


Lifelong Love Letter

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Tales From the Tower [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Drama, Friends to Lovers, Love Letters, Mission Fic, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 08:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 79,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4012279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p><hr/><p>
  <i>She was, Steve realized, his last connection to Peggy. To his past. And he kind of liked her company. "I'd like to keep in touch."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Based on the slight widening of Sharon's eyes, the request surprised her. The fact she'd reacted at all probably meant she wasn't being a spy right now, which he liked. She dug in the pocket of her coat and pulled out a pen, using it to scribble a few lines on a napkin. "My number and email," she said, handing it over. "I'd love to hear from you. And like I said, if there's anything I can do to help find your friend I'd be happy to. I know he meant a lot to you."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He tore off half the napkin and wrote his information on it. "Thank you."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She glanced at the napkin and folded it and tucked it in a pocket. "Thank you again for coming to coffee. I hated how we left it last time."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He smiled. "I'm not a man who holds grudges or collects enemies."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She smiled back and again he couldn't stop himself from thinking how pretty she was. "That sounds like good advice."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yay Steve and Sharon's story! I'm really excited for this one, y'all. This was written in its entirety before _Age of Ultron_ was released in the US. It is not compliant with that film.
> 
> Please note the fabulous banner made by Olives, who is awesome.
> 
> This is a long one, so we'll be posting 3x a week Tues, Fri, Sun.
> 
> We've reached the point in this series you should at least have a passing knowledge of some of the other pairs in the Tower. We try hard to keep each fic stand alone, but there is overlap. Chapters that reference specific events from other fics will be noted.

_July, 2014_

The Fourth of July had always been a big holiday in Sharon Carter's family. When she was a little girl her father and several of his siblings would go in together on a rental house on the Jersey shore and she and her cousins would sleep together in one room, sprawled on stray mattresses and couch cushions, in Beauty and the Beast sleeping bags and Barbie nightgowns. They would be there the whole week, but on the fourth itself there would be a huge barbecue with relatives driving in from other parts of the East Coast to share in the burgers, hot dogs and semi-legal fireworks.

 She remembered Aunt Peggy attending those barbecues, because she remembered everything Aunt Peggy did, already forming a bit of a hero worship for the old woman. She had often sat apart from the festivities, though. If you came up to her with a sparkler or something she would smile and exclaim over it. She always complimented Sharon's mother on her potato salad. But there was always a sense of melancholy to her. Sharon's father had told her that Aunt Peggy just missed her husband and that made people quiet.

It wasn't until Sharon was a teenager and learning about WWII and Captain America in school that she realized the real reason Aunt Peggy hadn't liked the Fourth of July party and it had nothing to do with Uncle Daniel.

Steve Rogers had been born on July fourth.

The big barbecue didn't happen much anymore. She and her cousins were all grown and spread across the globe from DC to San Francisco to Paris and Tokyo. Most of them saved their family time for Thanksgiving or Christmas. But Sharon still remembered Aunt Peggy, watching fireworks with an odd, sad smile on her face.

The Fourth of July after SHIELD fell Sharon visited Peggy at her nursing home, bringing with her flowers and a bowl of her mom's potato salad. Peggy was delighted to see her, as she always was. She knew who she was right away, which was nice. Sometimes she though Sharon was her mother, or Lilly, Peggy's daughter. Once she'd called her Angie, but hadn't been able to tell her who Angie was when pressed.

 "This potato salad is as good as it was when your mother made it," Peggy told her, nibbling on the small serving her nurses had said was okay to give her.

"The secret ingredient is pickle juice," Sharon told her. Her mother hoarded that secret with her life, but who was Peggy going to tell?

"That does explain it." She ate one more bite, then put the bowl down with a sigh. "I miss him today more than most."

If her father were here, he'd ask who she meant. Dad had never really processed the whole, his Aunt had been in love with Captain America thing. Sharon didn't bother. "It's his birthday, right?"

Peggy nodded. "Yes. We got drinks together to celebrate. He and the Commandos. We couldn't give him any gifts, of course. With the rations. Not even a cake. But he swore it was the best birthday he'd ever had, because his friends were there." Peggy smiled fondly. "He was like that, you know. So kind."

"I know," Sharon said. It sounded like today was one of those days Peggy didn't remember he was alive again and she didn't want to throw her off. "I'm sorry you miss him."

Her aunt was silent a moment, staring off into space. Sharon felt an odd little chill on her spine and found herself watching Peggy's chest, counting the rise and fall of her breaths. Finally, the old woman spoke. "I'd like to think I'll see him again. On the other side. I've outlived all of them. All the ones I loved. Steve and Daniel. Howard. Edwin. Angie. All of them." She looked at Sharon and there were tears in her eyes. "I'd like to think I'll see them again."

Sharon put her bowl down and reached out to hold Peggy's hand in both of hers. "I'm sure you will, Aunt Peg. You've earned that."

"Yes." She squeezed her hands with surprising strength. "You're a good girl, Sharon. You were always a good girl. I was so proud of you when you made SHIELD agent."

She swallowed hard, but smiled. "Thank you. I'm glad."

Peggy sighed and there was something raspy at the end of it. "I'd like to take a nap now, Sharon, dear."

"That's fine. Do you mind if I sit a bit longer? It's very peaceful here."

"Peaceful, yes. Of course, dear. It will be nice to have some company."

Sharon held her hand as she drifted off, rubbing the paper thin skin stretched over slim fingers. Aunt Peggy had always been so larger than life. With stories that seem out of pulp novels. It didn't seem right that she should slip away quietly in a nursing home. But maybe that's what she had earned. To have peace in this moment, to make up for the chaos of all the others.

Peggy stopped breathing at eight thirty pm on July fourth, just as the boom of fireworks started to echo in the humid air outside her window.

Sharon's Aunt Lilly and cousins handled the funeral arrangements. There was a big obituary in multiple major papers, though it made her sad it was tainted by commentary about what SHIELD turned out to be. 

Most of the family was coming in and it was expected to be a bit of a political gathering, so the funeral was scheduled for almost a week after her death. Feeling vaguely helpless in the face of her combined aunt and cousins Sharon decided it was her job to make sure Steve knew it was happening. She had no idea if he'd actually come, but he had been the love of Peggy's life and she his, as near as she could tell. He deserved the chance.

She called every loyal contact she still had from SHIELD, finally ending up on the phone with Maria Hill.

"I don't expect anything, but I just wanted to make sure he knew when and where it was," she told the other woman. She and Hill hadn't been anything resembling "friends." She'd given Sharon mission orders ad few times, been present for debriefs. Had seemed to like Sharon enough to be worthy of a nod of acknowledgement when she saw her in the halls at the Trisk. She was working for Stark now, and from what Sharon was hearing was recruiting agents she knew to be loyal. Sharon had gotten in at the CIA before Hill had gotten around to her. "From someone other than the newspaper," she added.

"He went hunting for Barnes." Sharon could tell by her tone she didn't approve. "We're not entirely sure where he is. But I'll make some calls. I know he'd want to be there."

"Thank you. It's on the eleventh, starting at eleven thirty."

She wondered if that would be the end of it, after she hung up. But then, on the day of the funeral, there he was. He had on a dark suit and dark sunglasses and his hair was on the shaggy side. He didn't look a whole lot like Captain America, but then maybe that was the point.

Aunt Lily wanted just the family to come to the burial, in an effort to avoid a circus. Sharon got in line with her siblings as they filed out of the church, but managed to drop a note in his lap with the name of the cemetery on it. She made a point not to look at him as she did. It occurred to her as she was getting in her car to join the funeral procession that Aunt Peggy would have enjoyed the vaguely clandestine nature of the gesture. The thought brought on a round of tears and she almost missed pulling out into the line of cars.

He stayed out of the way of the family, loitering over near a tree and watching quietly. The minister droned on, and she found herself watching him, standing there so very still. She thought about what Aunt Peggy had said about outliving everyone she'd loved. Steve probably felt the same. Only instead of watching them age and drift away slowly he'd woken up to find himself alone in the world.

They all tossed a handful of dirt into the grave, then walked back to their cars so the cemetery workers could do their part. Sharon hung out with her cousins and chatted, hugged her aunt and uncle and begged off the little get together they were having back at their house. She went to her car and started to go, then changed her mind and climbed out, walking back to Peggy's grave.

Sure enough, he was standing there, staring down into the open ground. When he saw her he turned away a little, reaching up under his glasses to wipe his eyes.

She stopped where she was, a couple yards away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" She sighed "I'm glad you could come. I'll leave you to-"

"No, please." He reached out a hand. "Hill told me you called her. Thank you."

She twisted her fingers together in front of her. "I knew she'd want you to be here. And I didn't want you to find out from a newspaper article."

He nodded. After a moment, he said, "You know she stayed on the line with me. When I put the plane in the ice. We talked about going dancing, even though we both knew it wouldn't happen. I wish I'd told her I loved her."

"She knew," she told him quietly. "She used told me stories about you and . . . she knew."

He heaved a sigh. "Good. She knew who I was, you know? Not Captain America but who I actually was." 

Hesitantly, she walked a little closer. "She talked about you the last day, actually. Said you had a birthday when she knew you and you went out drinking with her and the Commandos."

"I remember that. They really wanted to make me a cake. You couldn't even buy one, because of the rationing. We went out drinking instead. Good friends, pretty girl. . . war or not, I think it was the best birthday I ever had." He looked at her. "I do wish I'd been able to say goodbye. Though I told her where I was going and she encouraged me to do it. I don't know if the memory of that conversation stuck, though."

Sharon tried to remember but she couldn't recall if they'd had a discussion about it. "If it helps, she wasn't alone. And she was happy and peaceful."

"You were there?" he asked quietly, only half a question.

Lifting a shoulder, she said, "It was the fourth of July. I brought her potato salad."

"I'm sorry for how rude I was to you," he said.

She actually hadn't expected an apology. "You were in a bad place. And I had misled you. I'm sorry I couldn't have been honest."

He smiled at her. "I at least feel better about being shot down." He paused. "You were pretty deft with that, by the way. I have to give you credit."

"Well, they teach us that in spy school," she said, feeling oddly shy. "When in doubt, mention infectious diseases."

He chuckled. "Thankfully I was aware enough not to mention I can't get sick."

She laughed a little. "That might have stumped me. I really did want to go."

"In hindsight, I probably wasn't in the best place, anyway. Natasha was just nagging me and you were pretty. Are pretty." 

The little six year old inside her that had hung on every word of Aunt Peggy's stories fainted at the words. Captain America had just called her pretty. "I know neither of us is in a particularly good place right now. . . but maybe I could buy you a coffee?"

That got her a grin. "Sounds good."

"There's a nice little not-Starbucks place near here. Run by two little old ladies. If they think you're too skinny you get free pastries. I can give you directions, unless you'd like to just hop in my car."

"I trust you not to spoil my virtue," he replied.

She smiled and inclined her head, leading him down to her car.


	2. Chapter 2

The coffee shop was cozy, and it was easy to find somewhere private to sit. Steve gravitated towards any sort of establishment operated by the people who owned it. There was something about the large, slickly homogenized chains on every corner that bothered him. They seemed foreign and fake and soulless. 

Sharon Carter had good taste.

There was a bustling little old lady behind the counter, who seemed to know Sharon. She fussed over her a bit when she realized she was coming from a funeral. When she brought over their drinks they came with a plate of two brownies and what looked like a miniature pecan pie.

Sharon smiled after the owner had left them alone again. "She bakes it all in house."

"I'll have to remember this place when I get back in to town."

"Are you staying for any length of time?"

He shook his head. "I just came for the funeral. I don't have anything here anymore. She was the last bit." 

She nodded and sipped her latte. "Agent Hill said you were looking for your friend?"

"Yeah. I know it sounds like a crazy quest, but. . ." he shrugged. "I thought I lost everything. And then there he was, like a ghost. He fished me out of the Potomac. There's got to be some part of Bucky still in there."

She was shaking her head. "I understand. Aunt Peggy used to tell me not to have regrets. Regrets are pain that doesn't heal, she'd tell me. If you feel you have to track him down then it's not crazy. You deserve to know if he's still the man you remember."

"I read his file. They did some horrible things to him."

Sharon studied him a moment. "If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know."

"Where are you working these days?"

"CIA," she said with a smile. "I got the best marksmanship score my supervisor had ever seen."

"Full-on spy now?"

She chuckled and looked down. "Yep. Got the shoe phone and the secret handshake."

Steve stirred his coffee and took a drink. He didn't entirely like paying several dollars for coffee—price inflation was really something else—but he had to admit, they made coffee better these days than they had back in the 40's.

"I'm not really sure what I think of it," she admitted. "I was as disillusioned as anyone else when the truth came out about SHIELD. I didn't necessarily want to jump right into another shadowy government agency but. . ." She spread her hands, then wrapped them around her coffee mug. "I didn't know what else to do."

"I hear that," he said. "I joined SHIELD because I didn't know what to do with myself after waking up. Seemed the most logical path. Now. . . hell if I know. Do I go work for Stark? Pick another government agency? Go on the lecture circuit?"

"Are you familiar with reality TV? You'd be a smash on the Bachelor."

"Is that a dating show?"

She smiled, looking kind of mischievous. "Yes."

"Have you been talking to Natasha?"

"No," she said, laughing a little. "Just teasing."

She really was pretty. It was almost too bad, as this was almost certainly his window. He was oddly proud he could actually recognize it. But he still had things to do. He had to find Bucky. And. . . he had to grieve. He'd been trying to sort out why Nat's matchmaking attempts had bothered him. Why his occasional attempts to find some temporary company hadn't sat well. Lately he'd been thinking maybe what he needed was to actual grieve, for the life he'd lost and the woman time had taken from him. "I don't think dating of any sort is the best idea right now. Televised or otherwise."

If she was disappointed or had expected more, she didn't let it show. "It's good to be aware of that," she said. She nudged the plate of desserts closer. "You earn a brownie."

Well. He was hungry. "Can I ask you something that might possibly sound offensive?"

She broke off a corner of a brownie and popped it in her mouth before answering. "Go ahead."

"I can lift half a ton. Literally. I run faster than the fastest sprinter in the world, and can do it for dozens of miles. I can survive bullets, alien lasers, falls of hundreds of feet, plane crashes and being frozen. There's a whole cache of SHEILD scientists who theorized I might be immortal. Horrifying as that is. What were you going to protect me from?"

He watched her chew thoughtfully for a moment, wiping her fingers daintily on a napkin. "When I got the assignment, I had the same thought," she admitted finally. "Fury wasn't the kind of guy you asked such questions of. So I went and asked my aunt. She said even Captain America needs someone at his six. Even if he won't ask for it," She broke off another bite of brownie. "I don't know that I was going to protect you from anything. My goal was to make sure whatever you faced you didn't face it alone."

He looked down and swallowed. That sounded so very much like Peggy. "She did the same during the war. I know a lot of the legend paints me as a capable of saving the world on my own, but that wasn't any kind of true." He looked back at Sharon. "Pisses me off she's not in that Smithsonian display. She was as much one of us as anyone else."

"My aunt Lilly, her daughter, she wrote them letters. Then Aunt Peggy asked her to stop. She said she knew her own value and didn't need a wax figure in a museum to affirm it. My cousin and I took her to see the display." Sharon smiled at the memory. "She said you were more handsome in person. Then told the dummy grenade story for possibly the fiftieth time."

"Bucky was really mad at me when he head that story. Asked me if I had any sense of self preservation."

"Peggy told it like a funny story. Always made sure to mention that Phillips looked like he's just eaten a lemon afterwards."

"He eventually came around." He ate another bit of the brownie they were clearly sharing. "You know, Fury could be pretty tone deaf sometimes. I do better with honesty than subterfuge. I wish I'd known you were you."

Sharon's mouth thinned a bit and she took a sip of her latte. "I suggested that, a couple months in. Not to Fury - I didn't get a lot of face time with him. But to Hill. I thought it was better to know you had backup. She told me you couldn't reject what you didn't know what there." She lifted a shoulder. "I think - and this is just me spitballing - I think Fury knew the SHIELD he was running wasn't the kind of SHIELD you'd approve of. So they kept you in a safe little Captain America bubble and the rest of us all orbited around it."

"Stark once told me an Intelligence Agency the fears intelligence is, to quote, 'not awesome'. Suppose it goes the same for fearing. . . whatever it is Fury thought I was."

"He wasn't always like that," she offered. "You know Aunt Peggy trained him? Recruited him, actually."

"Don't tell me he was a wide-eyed idealist once?"

She laughed brightly. "No, actually. She met him when he tried to steal her purse."

"You're kidding me."

"No, I swear." Straightening in her chair, she shifted to face him fully. It reminded him of Peggy, almost despite himself. She'd like to get comfortable before telling her tale. "This would have been the late seventies? Fury was a teenager. Peggy would have been around sixty or so. The government was putting pressure on her to retire, wanting to drag SHIELD out of New York to have a headquarters in DC. She'd been digging her heels in, of course. One evening, she's getting off work a little after dark and Fury - she always called him a skinny ruffian when she told the story - he bumps into her and grabs her purse, trying to yank it off her arm."

"And she didn't kick his teeth in?" He'd been flabbergasted the first time he saw Peggy fight, and it had been a useful reminder about underestimating people—even though he should have known better. She'd even goaded him into sparing with her once during the war. He'd pulled his punches, she'd kicked his ass, and then yelled at him about holding back. They'd ended up naked at the end, though he generally left that part out when telling that particular story.

"Well, their stories differ. Fury claimed she just caught his arm and started to yell. Peggy said she grabbed his arm, flipped him over her shoulder, _then_ started to yell." She grinned. "She asked him if he was robbing her because he needed money or was he trying to impress someone. Turned out it was a bit of both. So she hauls him off by the ear and buys him dinner at some diner and talks to him. About his life and his future. What he wanted to do. At the end, she bought him a piece of pie and told him he could be a hoodlum if he wanted to. But she was giving him a chance to be more. Then she handed him her card and said if she saw him mugging little old ladies again he would not get a second chance."

"That's a fantastic origin story," he said with a smile. He watched her for a moment, and decided she was trustworthy. "He's not really dead."

Her jaw dropped open in an almost comical expression of disbelief. "How- But." She snapped her mouth shut and made a little frustrated noise that was also reminiscent of Peggy. "Of course he isn't. Was he at the Trisk with you?"

"He went to authorize the data dump and was upstairs with Romanov. I was on the helicarriers." 

Sharon shook her head and drank some coffee as if to calm herself down. "Well. I am glad he's not dead. Though I would have tried to contact him about the funeral if I'd known earlier."

Steve shook his head. "He's overseas. He went Hydra hunting. None of us know where he is."

"Ah, well. I suppose that's what Aunt Peg would have wanted."

"I'm sure the obits will make it to him eventually." 

"It did make quite a few papers." She broke off more brownie. "I'm going to miss visiting her," she said quietly. "She was always willing to listen."

He closed his eyes, feeling a sudden wave of grief. "Me, too."

They were both quiet for a few moments, lost in their own mourning. Sharing the loss didn't make it any less painful. But it did make him feel a little less isolated.

Sharon finished off the last of her coffee. "I don't want to keep you. If you were flying out tonight."

She was, he realized, his last connection to Peggy. To his past. And he kind of liked her company. "I'd like to keep in touch."

Based on the slight widening of her eyes, the request surprised her. The fact she'd reacted at all probably meant she wasn't being a spy right now, which he also liked. She dug in the pocket of her coat and pulled out a pen, using it to scribble a few lines on a napkin. "My number and email," she said, handing it over. "I'd love to hear from you. And like I said, if there's anything I can do to help find your friend I'd be happy to. I know he meant a lot to you."

He tore off half the napkin and wrote his information on it. "Thank you."

She glanced at the napkin and folded it and tucked it in a pocket. "Thank you again for coming. And for coming to coffee, actually. I hated how we left it last time."

He smiled. "I'm not a man who holds grudges or collects enemies."

She smiled back and again he couldn't stop himself from thinking how pretty she was. "That sounds like good advice."

*

**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** July 18, 2014, 2:26 PM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** Hello. I may need some assistance.  
**Attachments:** 07-05-prospects.xlsx (118 KB)

Sharon,

Is it rude for my first correspondence to be asking for something?

I was hoping to have some aliases run down. SHIELD files came up empty, but I know the CIA has its own data. Feel free to say no if it turns out that's treason or something.

Thanks in advance,

Steve

She hadn't really expected him to reach out to her, let alone this quickly. Either he'd really hit a brick wall or he'd embraced the idea of having a support system. Whatever the case, she was happy and touched to get the little note in her inbox.

She jotted down the list of five aliases and the next time she was in the right system at work she ran them down. If anyone ever did a proper audit, she might get a talking to, but she was a Carter, she was pretty sure she could fudge it.

**Date:** July 22, 2014 10:35 AM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** re: Hello. I may need some assistance.  
**Attachments:** rogers.zip (2.12 MB)

Hi Steve,

Attached is everything I could find on those names you sent. One has definitely been active recently. Hope it helps.

Don't feel bad for asking. I'll just start a tally of how many coffees you owe me.

Best,

Sharon  
  


**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** July 26, 2014, 12:02 PM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** re: Hello. I may need some assistance.

I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help. I suppose this does give some credence to Fury's compartmentalization theory. Sam thinks coffee is not enough and I should buy you dinner. 

Steve

After debating far, far too long, and two good sized glasses of after work wine, she replied.

**Date:** July 27, 2014 9:18 PM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** re: Hello. I may need some assistance.

I like dinner.

Be safe. Let me know if I can be of more help. I can work up to NICE dinner.

Sharon

She was sent on an op before she got a reply from him, and it wasn't the sort of thing where she could check her email. When she got back, there were three from him. The first had more names to check. The second was about how dinners weren't worth buying unless they were nice. Somewhere with table linens, where people wore dresses and suits. He seemed to have strong opinions about the degradation of dressing habits, and complained about seeing someone at the symphony last year wearing flip flops.

The last email was simply:

**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** July 31, 2014, 1:56 PM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** re: On the subject of dinner.

I sounded like an old fart there, didn't I?

It actually made her laugh a little, curled up on her couch, hair damp, in her pjs with a cup of earl grey tea cooling by her elbow.

**Date:** August 18, 2014 11:47 PM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** re: On the subject of dinner.

Steve

There was a hint of "get off my lawn" to it, yes. But flip flops at the symphony is an unforgivable offense. It shows a lack of respect to the performers. I was roommates with a ballerina once, years ago, and she used to complain about people underdressed at shows. They notice, and they judge.

Sorry for the delay in replying, I was out of town for a couple weeks. I will check out the new names when I get back in the office this week.

I guess I'll start researching white table cloth restaurants I want to try out, too.

Sharon


	3. Chapter 3

Their emails fell into a certain rhythm. He'd ask her for help with things, they'd make jokes, discuss this ephemeral dinner they'd have someday. Then one day in the fall, his email had a different tone.

**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** October 6, 2014, 3:19 AM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** Finally

Dear Sharon,

We found him. In the end he went back to Russia, looking for some sort of answers about what happened to him. He doesn't remember much, but he knows who I am, and knows he knows me beyond his last mission. It's not what I was hoping for, but it's something. Sam has been talking to him, helping him sort out his admittedly very confused mind.

It's funny, I brought Sam along for his combat skills, but it's the therapist in him that's proving most useful. Funny how things work out.

Stark has offered us a place to stay. Seems like a good idea, all things considered. However, for the moment we're stuck in Vladivostok. Any idea how I might get a man with no identity back to New York?

Steve  
  


**Date:** October 8, 2014 11:09 AM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** re: Finally  
**Attachments:** brookville.zip (22 KB)

Steve

Attached are the names of three forgers in Russia currently on CIA watch lists. They'll be expensive and possibly hard to find, but the most straight forward answer. If you can't find or afford them let me know and I'll see what I can do.

I'm so happy you found him and that he's willing to come home with you. The fact he remembers you at all is a good sign, I would think. Maybe with time and help he'll resemble your old friend. At least a new version of him.

I really am so happy for you. Hope everything works out and you get home soon.

Be safe,

Sharon

Two weeks later, he sent her a note that they were safely in New York. She wondered if he'd mention their dinner or coffee now that they were on the same continent, but he didn't. Of course, he did have a lot on his mind. A couple of days later, though, a bottle of fancy Russian vodka showed up on her doorstep.

She cracked the vodka open alone, enjoying how it burned all the way down. It wasn't dinner, but it was thoughtful. She dropped him a line thanking him for the bottle, reiterating how glad she was Barnes was home and wishes for the future. That was probably that. He wouldn't need her CIA connections anymore.

She was surprised at how sad that made her feel. She got an assignment overseas, which seemed good timing. But then, just as she settled in, he emailed her again.

**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** December 6, 2014, 6:30 PM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** Hello again

Sharon,

Sorry for the long delay in reply. It's been rather busy here. Though I think that's mostly me fussing over Bucky. Natasha tells me I'm turning into a mother hen. But he's doing good. Seems to have struck up a friendship with the doctor Hill brought over. Did you ever meet Dr. Newbury at SHIELD? She's doing serum research, now on Stark's dime.

She showed him a bunch of the Captain America movies, which I've pretty much avoided. There's so much I still need to see and learn to catch up, I don't have time to waste on fictional interpretations of my own life. But, as it turns out, some of them are pretty ridiculous.

It occurs to me DC isn't too far from New York. I do technically still owe you dinner, don't I?

Steve  
  


**Date:** Decemeber 8, 2014 10:40 PM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** re: Hello again  
**Attachments:** IMG_2658.jpg (1.65 MB)

Steve

I met Dr. Newbury once, a year or so ago, she did my physical. I liked her well enough. She was friendly and a good doctor. There was often gossip and rumors about where she got that scar. My favorite involved the running of the bulls in Pamplona. There are certainly worse people for him to be friends with. Especially if it helps you to not fuss.

Will you think less of me if I admit I have a weakness for terrible Captain America movies? It started as a joke in high school. I'd grown up hearing these stories and watching this strange, 50s, sugar coated, soft focus filter version of it was surreal in a kind of hilarious way. I'll still dig one out when I need a pick me up.

I might need one now, because while DC and New York are quite close together I am not currently in either of those cities. I'm working, and unfortunately I can't tell you where. I'll be here a while, possibly through the end of the year. (Telling my mother I won't be around for Christmas was probably more dangerous than this mission.) So if that was an invitation, I'm going to have to ask for a rain check.

Enjoy New York at Christmastime for me.

Sharon

On impulse, she attached a picture she'd taken her first day in town, of the sun rising over snow dusted trees. There were no distinguishing features that would tell him where she was, and it was a very pretty picture that she thought he, as an artist, would enjoy.

She was absolutely delighted that he sent her back a sketch of the Rockafellar Center Christmas Tree. The list of people who knew Captain America was a damn good artist was probably pretty small.

**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** December 14, 2014, 4:29 AM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** re: Hello again  
**Attachments:** RockCenter.tiff (2.45 MB) 

Sharon,

The last time I had a social occasion rain check I ended up spending 70 years in ice. So let's call it something else. I'm pretty superstitious (like a lot of old people). 

The picture is gorgeous, by the way. Thought sending back one of my own would be the thing to do.

Have you seen the modern movies? Bucky did and warned me off.

Something else I was thinking. You know my whole life story, and I know very little about you. Seems lopsided. Tell me something.

Steve  
  


**Date:** Decemeber 22, 2014 9:51 PM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** re: Hello again

Eek! Yes, let's definitely call it something else. A flexible rescheduling? Do-over? In any case, maybe skip the ice skating till I get back.

I saw the Spielberg one that won all the Oscars. I was nineteen and Aunt Peggy wanted to see it, but couldn't drive or even check herself out of the nursing home alone. Her kids refused to take her because they thought it would "upset" her. I was nineteen so I knew everything and signed her out and took her. It did upset her. (It upset me!) But she said it was the closest to the real story she'd ever seen and she never seemed to regret seeing it. It's one of those movies you can really only watch once, especially if you have any emotional connection to the subject.

I'm pretty sure it would give you PTSD all over again, though.

I hate talking about myself, does that count as telling you something? Everything I think of sounds like the opening paragraph of a college entrance exam. I went to college at NYU, by the way. Sociology major. I already knew I wanted to work for SHIELD, but my parents wanted me to have other options, so I did college before the Academy. I don't regret it, I made good friends there and learned a lot. I think they were probably hoping I'd decide I wanted a different career, but not a lot of want ads for sociologist, really. I like photography, too, in case the attachment earlier didn't tip you off. (Thank you for the sketch, by the way. You're really good.) I think I actually like it too much to try to make a career of it. I prefer to do it on my own terms.

Occasionally, I think about getting a pet, but I worry I'm gone too much for it to be fair. Thoughts?

Merry Christmas!

Sharon  
  


**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** January 4, 2015, 8:21 AM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** Happy New Year! 

Sharon,

I can't even dance, you think I can ice skate? Not that "Captain America falls on ass" wouldn't make a fantastic headline for the papers. Also, I apologize I've torn the fabric of your reality, but I do in fact curse. One of the most bizarre things about the sanitization of legends such as myself is the world thinks we are/were very PG-13. I didn't see the Spielberg movie (Bucky told me not to), but I hear even that toned down the language. Have you ever seen the TV show Deadwood? The war was a lot more like that. The Smithsonian mentions Jones spoke five languages, but not that he could swear in about 18.

There's nothing wrong with cats. I hear they're pretty self-sufficient. Speaking of them, Barton and Natasha got a cat a couple of days ago. They have adjoining apartments; one is empty, and they live in the other, while pretending they're not living together. For Christmas he redid their bathroom to install a fancy tub. (We all chipped in. Bucky and I hung drywall. Never, ever do a plumbing project with Tony Stark.) But they don't live together. I don't understand them, but they seem happy. The cat is cute.

I think your photography is pretty damn good. You should send me more.

Steve  
  


**Date:** January 13, 2015 11:13 PM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** re: Happy New Year!  
**Attachments:** paris.zip (9.43 MB) 

Steve,

I am back in the US after a month away. My mission (which totally didn't happen shh!) went well and I'm getting a week off in return for working at Christmas. It will probably take about that long to kill whatever is growing in the back of my fridge. Unless I decide to make that my pet. Hmmm.

Anyone who thinks people invented swearing in the eighties didn't spend their formative years at the knee of a WWII vet. If you ever meet my parents make sure they tell you the story of me, at three, loudly yelling "Watch it you bloody bastard!" at a little kid on the playground who had cut in line at the slide. Aunt Peg was so proud, she bought me an ice cream later.

My roommates and I watched Deadwood on DVD in Academy but had to take a break after a couple of seasons. Our vocabulary had deteriorated.

Barton and Romanov I do know, though ten-to-one he only knows me as Agent 13. I trained with him when I first joined SHIELD. He's an excellent teacher and mentor, to the surprise of many. Romanov would occasionally make appearances, too. She worked with just about all the female agents at one time or another. Living-together-but-not sounds like them to a tee. Rumors flew about them for years. (You may have noticed now that SHIELD liked its gossip and rumors.) I'm glad they're happy, if unconventional.

I actually did some research on pocket pets, thinking they'd be lower maintenance, but apparently it's the opposite. Cage animals need their cages cleaned regularly. Rabbits chew on everything And what, really, is the point of fish? I do like cats, and apparently there's a service that will come once a week and change your litter box for you, so maybe that's an option. There's a teenage girl in the apartment below me that babysits, maybe she'd be willing to pet sit, too.

I spent New Years with a cousin of mine who lives in Paris on my way back from mission. Attached are some shots I took there, including her kids attempting to make a snowman on their balcony. And a selfie at the Eiffel Tower which is not my best composition but the lighting is decent.

Sharon  
  


**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** January 14, 2015, 7:26 AM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** re: Happy New Year! 

Heading out on a mission, will reply longer later. . . but have you been taking these pictures with a cell phone? - Steve  
  


**Date:** January 15, 2015 9:08 PM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** re: Happy New Year! 

The selfie was with my phone but most of the rest of them were with a real camera. I have several, a lighter weight, streamlined one that I travel with and a big heavy one with multiple lenses I use when I'm home and doing a planned picture taking day. Plus a few older ones. Some still work, others are more collectible/antiques.

Be careful on your mission! Sharon  
  


**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** January 14, 2015, 7:26 AM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** Today is a good day  
**Attachments:** FromBurj.tiff (18.84 MB) 

So, I didn't mention this before, but it was Bucky's first mission with us. I don't know we would have started bringing him along this quickly, or even at all, but Barton broke his foot, and we needed a sniper. As good a shot as many of us are (including someone such as yourself), shooting for long ranges is a very different animal. Ask one of them about making a mile plus shot and you'll get what sounds like a calculus lecture. Anyway, the mission went extremely well, so I think he'll be coming along more. Funny a few months ago I was still afraid one or both of us might get tossed in jail.

I'm glad to learn you use a real camera. That might be the old fart in me. The other day Stark was trying to sell me on some digital painting/sketching app. He thinks drawing on paper and then scanning things if I want to share them is an unneeded step. What I get for asking him about the scanner. Maybe I really am old, but it doesn't feel real unless I've got charcoal under my fingernails.

I assure you, Peggy knew all of Jones's foreign-language curse words too.

-Steve

There was a huge attachment on the email. At first Sharon thought Stark hadn't explained image compression to him, but when she opened it, it was a very detailed drawing of the Dubai skyline. He must have been in the middle east.

The next time she was out getting groceries, she stopped at a copy store and got it printed on high quality paper and framed. It went on her living room wall, with a few landscape shots of her own. Taking a picture of that was kind of meta, but it beat the grey and dreary Potomac shots, which was the only other pictures she'd taken since getting home.

**Date:** January 26, 2015 5:19 AM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** It's too early for a clever subject

Steve,

Just a quick note as I wait for my flight. On my way to the West Coast to babysit some analysts working on encryption data for us. Apparently, they work faster with someone in a dark suit glowering in the corner. Low threat job in an English speaking country? My boss must like me.

I'm bringing my big camera because I've been promised some down time (apparently, you can only stare at encryption code for so many hours a day before you go cross eyed) so expect some pretty pictures of San Francisco soon. Any souvenir requests? I could overnight you some sourdough bread.

All my best,

Sharon

He wrote back and asked her to find him a food product called an Its-It, which turned out to be ice-cream. It was a pain to ship, but one of the Howling Commandos who was from California had told him about it during the war and he'd wanted one ever since he'd figured out they were still being made.

She sent him pictures of the fog and the bridges and the victorian houses and of the strange people she ran into on the street. He sent back sketches of New York and other things he was up to. After she sent the ice cream, she got a heavy cardboard-sided envelope in the mail a week later. The piece inside was what she recognized as one of her photographs, redone in oil pastels.

This had, at some point, become something other than a guy keeping in touch with an old friend's niece. She wasn't entirely sure _what_ it was. They were both busy, lived in different cites and he, at least, seemed uninterested in any sort of romantic relationship. Still, she looked forward to his emails and occasionally caught herself thinking about how she would describe a particular event to him. It was friendship, she supposed. And for him, a connection to his past that was all but gone. She could live with that. One never had too many friends, right?

She was in San Francisco over three weeks while her data got sorted. It was topped off by two very busy days at work explaining what she'd found to various men who seemed to think she was adorable with her blonde hair and her dark suit. Sexism was alive and well in the boys club and she never felt closer to Aunt Peggy than when she was making big-shot men feel very small.

Her apartment felt very big and empty when she got home that night. Seriously, she needed to look into that cat. The oil painting hung in her bedroom, where she saw it every morning when she woke up.

Sharon stared at it for a few minutes, studying the swirls and lines of the brush strokes. Then she tugged her laptop in front of her and opened it up.

**Date:** February 20, 2015 10:36 PM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** Back in DC

So. About that dinner?


	4. Chapter 4

It was spring before they finally managed to be in the same place at the same time—and actually available. It was hard for him to get away because Bucky was living in his apartment, and he was still sort of responsible for him—according to Hill, anyway. Then they'd had a mission in Romania where Bucky had rescued Dr. Newbury, and that seemed to buy him enough trust to get his own apartment. 

Steve took the train down to DC the next weekend Sharon was free.

The city still held a lot of melancholy memories for him but he didn't want those to taint this. . . dinner. He got a hotel room in a different part of the city from his old apartment and the site of the Trisk. Sharon had done a lot of research - claimed she enjoyed it - and had sent him the name of a nice restaurant in Adams Morgan. It described itself as "French inspired American" and seemed to be all simple, tasty looking food. Sharon's only comment had been "They have risotto!" so he was pretty sure he knew what she was getting.

He wanted to pick her up, but this wasn't a date. It couldn't be a date. There was no way he could have any sort of relationship when it took him two months just to be free for dinner. So they met at the restaurant instead. It was really too bad, because the dress she had on made him wish it was a date.

It was midnight blue, sleeveless with a layers of silk and lace. It sort of reminded him of the kind of dress the flappers wore when he was a kid. The V in the back was deep enough he wondered how she could wear a bra with it. Then he reminded himself he shouldn't be thinking about bras if this wasn't a date.

She smiled as soon as she saw him, winding her way through the other tables. He saw her hesitate an instant, as if unsure how to greet him. Then she just sank into her seat. "Hello there."

"Hi," he said with a grin. "Nice dress."

Grinning, she smoothed her hand over her skirt. "Thank you. There was another one that had more of that vintage forties style but I thought, 'No, too on the nose.'"

"I'm polite enough I never would have mentioned it."

"That's very good to know." She spread her napkin over her lap as the waiter came to ask if she wanted a drink. After a little back and forth with the young man, he talked her into one of the restaurant's specialty cocktails. Even Steve could tell the guy had toed the line from customer service to flirting.  
 If this was a date, that might annoy him.

Sharon turned her smile back to him when the waiter was gone. "How was the train ride?"

"Faster than trains were back in my day."

"Are you staying in town long?"

He ducked his head, feeling a touch embarrassed. "No, I just came down for this."

She looked down, too, and he was pretty sure she was blushing. "Well. I better make this one hell of a dinner."

"Well. I have owed you a meal for quite some time now. You know I never would have found him without your help."

Definitely blushing. But she looked pleased. "I'm glad it worked out so well. Sounds like he's doing really well, if he's moved into his own place."

"He remembers things here and there. From our childhood, from the war. Our last mission went sideways and at one point we thought we'd lost him. Scared the hell out of me, but seemed to jog some memories."

"I've read trauma can do that sometimes." A server brought her drink and she took a sip, brows going up. "How's it going with him and Dr. Newbury? Is that an official thing now?"

"He says it's not a thing. I don't know. They brainwashed him into being pretty monomaniacal. Sometimes I wonder if certain parts of his personality are slowly coming back online. But he's clearly very fond of her. He saved her life. During her debrief, they implied something untoward had gone on and she apparently ripped the interviewer to shreds. Any idea how rare it is for something to get Maria Hill to say 'clearly that was a mistake'?"

Sharon laughed. "Maria Hill is not easy to impress." She sipped her drink again. "I'm not surprised he's denying it. My brothers always refused to admit they liked a girl. Up to and including the time we walked in on Patrick making out with a very pretty brunette in the rec room."

"He was always good with women. Always trying to set me up, too. I went on so, so many awkward double dates."

"Oh, that's not just you. Double dates are always awkward. You remember that ballerina roommate I told you about?"

Her story of a double date with two musicians from the ballerina's orchestra got them through ordering their food up to the appetizer arriving. She told stories well, with just the right amount of detail and excellent comic timing. His ribs were aching by the time she got to the finale. 

"To top it off, he is so high on whatever he took he falls down the front steps of the club and I had to wrap his ankle with my friend's scarf and toss him into a cab to go get it x-rayed. God alone knows what happened to him after that."

"You could probably have spun that as a rom-com meet-cute if it had actually worked out."

She shook her head. "I've been a spy too long to trust meet-cutes. It really affects your movie watching experience when you can't buy coincidences." She scooped up the last bite of her tartar. "Hell, think how good a story our meeting would have been. Cute nurse across the hall?"

"See? And that would have turned out to be a lie." He grinned to show her he didn't mean anything negative by it. "Don't trust coincidences."

"Brutal honesty and complicated planning," she agreed. "It's the only way to be sure."

"As mottos go, it's a pretty good one."

Their entrees arrived then. She had, in fact, gotten the risotto. She lit up like a kid at Christmas when it was put in front of her. "I had risotto in a teeny, tiny little bistro in Florence once when on a mission for SHIELD," she told him, picking up her fork. "It was, to this day, the best thing I ever ate. I have tried to replicate the experience ever since."

"Food nowadays is so infinitely better, I can't even say."

She didn't respond right away as she seemed to be having some sort of religious experience over her first bite. The look on her face and little groan she gave brought up all kinds of inappropriate thoughts and feelings. He tried to distract himself dismantling the roast chicken he'd gotten.

"Have you had any chance to travel since you. . . woke up?" she asked after a moment. "See Europe when it's not war torn? Or even the other parts of America?"

"Not recreationally, no. Though I've been many places on missions. Modern cities are amazing." He ate some of his chicken. "I'd like to take a vacation. I think. Sight see. I've been to Rome four times now and haven't seen the Sistine Chapel."

"Do Avengers get vacations?" she asked, teasing a bit.

"Stark takes them. He's got some sort of massive estate in Hawaii." He watched her eat more risotto. He could probably do that all night. "Do you take vacations?"

"Little ones. Like my four days in Paris with my cousin. I haven't had an extended time away from working since. . . God, college, probably."

Apparently they were both workaholics. Like two peas in a pod. Who would find time for dinner once a quarter. "I keep saying I'm too busy, but if Stark and Pepper can get away for two weeks—especially Pepper—maybe I'm just making excuses."

"I think it depends on what kind of vacations you like to take," she said thoughtfully, swirling her fork through her risotto. "I had a friend in Academy that I kept in touch with. His idea of a vacation is to go off hunting in Maine for a week. Not see anyone, camp outside or in a cabin. Total solitude. But if you're the kind of person who wants to go look at things? Experience a new city, see museums and monuments and sit in an outdoor restaurant and people watch. . ." She shrugged. "That's something you need company for. And going without wouldn't be any more relaxing than just staying home."

"Exactly," he said, not surprised she understood. "I want somebody to share it with, I guess."

She nodded. "I think that's why I like to visit my family when I do get away. Touch base with people I don't see very much. Plus I get to see their city through their eyes, in a way."

She seemed to have a lot of friends and family that she kept in touch with. It was another thing on the growing list of things he liked about her. He knew at least some of the connections had to be tactical, keeping in touch with people that might be useful on mission. He couldn't begrudge her that, it had been why he'd emailed her in the first place. But he could tell from her stories that just as many were simply her friends. She seemed to collect and keep them like books. Like pictures on a wall.

They lingered over dessert and drinks. He bought a bottle of wine. Next thing he knew, they were the last people in the restaurant.

Sharon leaned back in her chair and stretched. "Oh. I think they're gonna kick us out soon. The bus boy is giving me dirty looks."

"I hate being that guy," he said, picking up the check folder and sliding his credit card in it.

"The guy who closes down the restaurant?"

"The staff wants to go home, and the management won't let them interrupt diners who lost track of time, because the world is full of assholes." He held up the check and the waiter came running over.

"Ah. I have it on good authority that for a big enough tip people will forgive anything."

He left a very large tip, sorry about keeping them late and pleased no one had recognized him. Natasha had told him once that he stood out because he was too nicely dressed. He supposed that made him less obvious in a place where you were supposed to dress nicely. 

He knew fashions changed, but he really could not shake the notion that t-shirts were underwear.

Sharon had one of those flimsy wraps that she pulled out and tugged around her shoulders against the chilly spring night. "Well, that was definitely worth the wait."

"It was, wasn't it?" He looked down at her. "Are you cold?"

She shrugged in such a way that had to mean yes. "The sacrifices we make for fashion."

He smiled, and shrugged his jacket off to drape over her shoulders. "That dress does seem well worth a sacrifice."

"I'm glad you like it," she said, huddling into the jacket. "So. What shall we do with ourselves now?"

"Coffee?" he asked.

She dug her hands into the pockets of his jacket and smiled. "Let's go."

They found a coffee shop a block or so up. Sharon found it via some app on her phone. "If I had to list all the things about the 21st century that just blow me away, smartphones would be very near the top."

"To be fair, I think a lot of us who were awake for their invention are kind of blown away by them at times." She stirred the whipped cream into the hot chocolate she'd decided to order. "Can I ask a question that might be a little. . . personal?"

"Of course," he replied.

"Do you remember anything? From the ice? I thought of it when you asked if I was cold."

"Not consciously," he replied. "I have nightmares sometimes were it's just black and cold and I can't breath. Like being on the bottom of the ocean. I certainly had no sense of time passing. I remember the crash, flying out of the chair and hitting the window at the front of the plane. I got up, found my shield and I think started to head towards the door. And then I must have passed out. Next thing I remember I woke up in New York, in Fury's fake room." He looked down at his coffee for a moment, remembering the parade of relief and joy and fear and confusion and eventual grief when reality sunk in. "That was the worst day of my life," he said quietly.

Her hand slid across the table and she touched the back of his hands with her fingertips. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

He had the urge to turn his hand over and hold hers, but knew he shouldn't do it. This wasn't a date. "I thought by staying with SHIELD that would some how help it make sense. Help it mean something. And maybe it has. New York was probably worth it. Stopping Insight. Not many people can say the number of lives they've saved is into eight figures."

When he risked a glance at her, she was smiling a little. Her fingertips rubbed him lightly. "You've done a lot of good," she told him. "No one would blame you if you wanted to take time off and bum around Europe. Be a bohemian artist."

Steve smiled. "That is amazingly tempting."

Her smile widened. "Stupid world just won't stay saved, will it?"

"Why we have jobs, I suppose." He watched her. "Ever wish you had a normal life?"

"Sometimes," she admitted with a little shrug. "But I have only myself to blame. I knew what I was getting into, more or less."

"I had no idea what I was getting into," he said. "I mean, I had a vague idea of what it might be like, but they sanitized the newsreels so much. Actual war was. . . quite the experience."

"I've never been in war. I've been in fights and shoot outs. I've been to war torn countries where the threat level was high enough to make everyone on edge. But I've never actually been in a battle."

"It's better and it's worse. Having a long term goal. But that can also make it interminable. Mostly you just. . . go forward. That's all you _can_ do."

"Have you watched any movies or read any books about the war that don't involve you?" She took her hand back to pick up her hot chocolate and he missed the feel of her skin. "There was that one out last year about the guy who broke the Nazi code. It won some Oscars."

"Alan Turing? I met him once, Peggy took me to Bletchley Park. Brilliant man."

"You should really see the movie. It got excellent reviews." She opened her mouth like she might say more, then shut it, looking vaguely awkward.

"What?" he felt compelled to ask.

She waved a hand. "No, I'm sorry. I was about to ask if you wanted to come to my place and I could bring the movie up on Netflix but I realized it's almost midnight and that might be. . . weird." She, apparently, was also attempting to make this not a date.

It really was for the best. "Maybe next time," he said. "When it's not midnight."

"It's a deal." She sipped her hot chocolate. "I had a very nice time," she added.

"Me too. Maybe it won't take months to schedule the next one."

She laughed a little. "World saving permitting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's rescue of Amanda that Steve mentions happens in chapters 5 and 6 of _My Scars, They are Your Scars_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references events from chapter 10 of _My Scars, They Are Your Scars_.

The patter of emails continued. They got so part of her routine that she really missed them whenever one of them was one some sort of time consuming mission. She had an undercover op in Shanghai that lasted almost a month, and when she got back the first thing she did was tell him she was online again. Literally, the first thing when she got ahold her personal phone. SHIELD had a policy of having things waiting for you on the extraction flight, so you could catch up on the way home. The CIA, unfortunately, was a little less employee friendly.

It was a week before he wrote back, long enough she was actually a little worried.

**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** July 12, 2015, 8:37 AM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** re: I may never eat another dumpling again  


Sharon

Sorry for the delay in reply. We've been having kind of a time here. Mission went sideways, Bucky got shot. He's okay, now, but I've spent most of the week camped out in the infirmary. I'll write more later—but God bless Barton's ridiculous hearing, or we'd all be dead. I never get used to the close calls.

Steve

She actually gasped out loud when she read the message, sending off her response from her gut.

**Date:** July 12, 2015 10:54 AM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** re: I may never eat another dumpling again  


Steve,

Glad to hear he's okay now. Is there anything i can do to help? I could be up there in the morning if you needed me to.

Sharon  
  


**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** July 12, 2015, 8:37 AM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** Hanging in there  


Sharon,

We're all right, but thank you. He's recovering. I am, apparently, hovering and have been asked to hover less. They had to keep him sedated for a couple of days, but he's up now and doing surprisingly well. Better than before, even. He says he's trying to embrace the life he's got now, even if he never remembers the old him.

It got me thinking. Wondering if maybe I'm stuck in the past. The problem is I do remember. I had a whole life, one I liked, and then it just vanished. Moving on is much harder than I thought. But I feel like a should, if Bucky can manage it.

Also, there is seriously something going on with him and Dr. Newbury. He says they're just friends, and maybe someday will be something else, but they seem kind of serious about each other. You should have seen her face when we wheeled him in all shot up.

Do you have any idea what sudoku is? Barton brought us a bunch of puzzles without instructions and neither of us can figure it out.

Steve  
  


**Date:** July 12, 2015 10:54 AM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** re: Hanging in there  


Steve,

I'm glad to hear he's doing better enough to order you to stop hovering. I remember when I was a little girl there was always a moment during any illness when I didn't actually feel BETTER, but I sure wanted my mom to stop asking if I was.

Perhaps you can find some sort of balance between remembering and honoring your past and embracing the world you're in now. You hear about people who experience awful, life changing traumas. A spouse or children dying, a crippling injury, house fire, layoffs. Somehow they find a way to rebuild a new life. Similar to the one they had before, but slightly crooked. With patched up places. It seems to me the life you have now is pretty similar to the one you lost. Good friends you can trust with your life. Bucky. A mission that hopefully you believe in.

There's no shame in grieving the life you lost. Or in taking as long as you need to find your way to a new one.

What kind of soap opera goes on in the Tower of yours? Though I do feel for Dr. Newbury. I can't imagine having to be the one to fix someone you care about. Though I suppose they teach you how to shut off somehow in medical school.

Sudoko is a math thing, which is not my strength. (Sociology major, remember?) The way I understand it, you have to fill each box with every number 1-9 without repeating. I'm sure there's a trick to it that's lost on me, though.

I'm heading to bed now. Tomorrow I have to restock my fridge and remember I'm in America and I can't barter with the nice man at the store for my groceries.

All my best,

Sharon  
  


**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** July 14, 2015, 5:21 AM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** Hanging in there  


Sharon,

I suppose you are right, about the similarity between my lives. Though, my WW2 group was mostly guys (and the one girl was, well, mine). Here's it's mostly couples. When we're not out fighting, anyway. That does change the tone. And make for a certain amount of third/fifth wheel dinners.

We do have that same bond, though. We've been to battle together. I stayed in the operating room for as long as Dr. Newbury would let me. (I've learned her first name is Amanda, but this is some sort of state secret, so don't tell anyone) When I finally went out into the waiting room, they were all sitting there, and had been for hours. They all live in the building and they kept vigil down the hall anyway. I don't know if it was for him or for me. But it made me feel a lot less alone. 

Steve  
  


**Date:** July 17, 2015 2:46 PM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** re: Hanging in there  
**Attachments:** barnabas.zip (9.43 MB) 

Steve

Peggy told me that the Commandos and Howard Stark were the only reason she managed to get through losing you. She was friends with them for the rest of their lives. In fact, I met a very drunk Tony Stark when I was a little girl, right after his parents died. He was sitting at Peggy's kitchen table with a cup of coffee and sunglasses. Someone shooed me out fairly quickly, so I never found out what exactly was going on. But I know she tried to watch out for him after Howard died.

It's good you have them with you and that you're all so close. I have lots of friends and cousins and two brothers, but I honestly don't know who or how many of them would come running if I needed them. I suppose some of that is the curse of being the rare single one in a sea of couples and families. Everyone has their own lives.

On a lighter note. You know that cat I was going to get? I got him. Apparently a local rescue group sets up cages at the grocery store I sometimes hit on the way home from work. They had maybe a dozen cages all full of kittens and gorgeous cats. The last time I was there, in May, I noticed this fluffy cream colored cat on a corner cage. But I was heading out on mission and told myself he'd be fine.

He was still there when I went yesterday, so I asked one of the ladies about him. "Oh, that's Barnabas," she said. "He's shy. He doesn't show well." How long have you had him? I ask. "Almost a year now. He just doesn't show very well. Shy cats are hard."

Barnabas (which is the best cat name ever) is now being shy on the other side of the couch. He's not entirely sure what he thinks of me, but he likes my couch and the view from my window. And I fed him, which has to count for something. Brace yourself for lots of pictures. I'm a new mom, after all.

Sharon

She attached her two favorite pictures of Barnabas, a profile of him at her window, watching birds and a shot of him on the exact center of her bed, curled up like a marmalade colored donut.

**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** July 18, 2015, 1:16 AM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** re: Hanging in there  


Sharon,

I approve of your cat. I find Barton and Natasha's cat reasonably adorable as well. Nowadays there seems to be a plethora of pet equipment available. They have a whole selection of cat climbing equipment in their apartment.

Shy people (and creatures) are often well worth the effort.

Steve

Later, stuck in a boring meeting and doodling on her notebook, Sharon wondered if he'd intended that as a reference to himself or not.

The emails continued throughout the summer and into the fall. She learned when Bucky and Amanda Newbury finally admitted something was going on. Steve was very happy for him, though she suspected there was some sense of loss to it as well. Though it sounded like Amanda was more than happy to include him in plans, being the third wheel had to sting. At least she wasn't trying to set him up on double dates.

At the end of the summer she was the busiest she'd been while working at the CIA. There was a promotion opportunity coming up after the first of the year, so she attended seminars and extra training as well as higher level missions in an effort to improve her qualifications. She sent him pictures from everywhere she went as well as shots of DC and Barnabas, including an extreme close up of him on her chest with the caption, _This is how I wake up every morning._

Lately they'd taken to texting each other intermittently. The emails were for long conversations, but now they'd added a string of random chatty bits. _Is he hoping to procure food via staring?_

 _It's entirely possible he's trying to suffocate me so he can eat me,_ she replied, still not out of bed. _I read about that happening to some little old lady down south._

_I'd send you a photo of what I wake up to, but my ceiling is boring._

_If I could draw like you my room would be covered in murals._

_I think mural painting is a different skill set. Also, there might be teasing._

She should really get up. Barnabas was now patting her face impatiently. _People dare tease you?_ she asked, rolling to dislodge the cat and climb out of bed.

_Some of my friends are shits. Especially the one I grew up with. And the one that can hide behind heavy armor._

The Tower really did sound like a dorm. _Armor is cheating. Like when my brother used to put on his football pads before playing a trick on me._

She fed Barnabas while they chatted, and then went to get ready herself. She even took the phone into the bathroom with her as she waited for the shower to heat up. She had the stray thought that if this were, say, a long distance relationship and not just a very peculiar friendship, she'd tell him she was getting in the shower, just for sport.

A new message was waiting for her when she got out. _I know you have to get to work and all. But I've been thinking we're overdue for dinner._

And then there were days she wasn't entirely sure this wasn't a very peculiar long distance relationship of some sort. _There's a training seminar in New York the week after Thanksgiving. I could probably get a spot._

_Perfect. We could go see the tree._

She was halfway through typing something about teaching him to ice skate when she remembered Peggy and the dancing and promptly started deleting it. Whatever kind of peculiar relationship this was, it was occasionally fraught with land mines. _Sounds good,_ she said instead. _I'll give you exact dates and hotel info when I have it._

Then he replied with, _I might even consider ice-skating, if you let me bring the shield._

_I look forward to clipping out a Captain America falls on own ass headline for my memory box_

_The serum has given me great balance, actually. We'll probably be fine._

Because skating together at Rockefeller Center at Christmas time was absolutely a thing that platonic friends did and not an incredibly romantic date thing. _I will pack accordingly. Want me to pick the restaurant again?_

_Nah. You're on my turf now._

_Well, then. I put myself in your capable hands._ She stared at that a moment and tried to decide if it was too double entendre-y. Eh, why not? _Gotta get ready for work now. Talk to you soon._


	6. Chapter 6

Tony Stark liked to throw quite a party. 

Nowadays they were less about drunken revelry and more about replicating family holiday gatherings. Steve suspected he longed for the sort of large and rowdy family he'd never had, and was enjoying emulating that with his friends.

Steve was tired by the time dinner started. He'd been up since well before dawn because he'd let himself get talking into riding a float in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. The little kid from Brooklyn in him thought it was awesome. The adult in him probably would have preferred he’d stayed home and watched it on TV. It was unseasonably cold, even for November, and being very cold made him feel unsettled.

The day before yesterday, Bucky had recruited him to help convince Doc to come to Thanksgiving. Still, he wasn't entirely sure she'd be there until he actually saw her. She looked a bit like a scared cat, ready to claw someone and run at the first wrong move. Bucky said she didn't really feel like she was "one of the group" what with never having been on the cover of a magazine.

Stark was on the balcony deep frying a turkey while Darcy Lewis documented it for posterity when Steve's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to find a new message from Sharon.

_Does anyone at your Thanksgiving dinner hog the mashed potatoes? Because if Matty goes in for a fourth helping I swear to God I'm going to break his wrist._

Talking to her always improved his day. Even an already good day like this one. _Stark and Pepper's chef makes enough food for 40 people. Granted, they do have to feed Bucky and I, and Thor, who eats enough for 10 people. But there's always too much._

_I got carpal tunnel mashing those bloody things I think I get the last scoop. House rules._ A pause. _I saw you in the parade. The nephews were ecstatic. My niece Clara wants to be a Capette when she grows up. We're unclear if she meant one of the dancing girls on the float or a girl version of you but I know which one I'm pushing._

He had started to reply when a third popped up. _You looked cold. You okay?_

_Should have worn thermals under the uniform._ The first reply was flip, because that was his instinct about stuff like this. Jokes were wonderful for hiding negative feelings. But he knew what she was asking, and touched that she _had_ asked. That she'd noticed. _It was a little unsettling. I'm pretty used to the wind whistling between the buildings and all. I grew up here. Maybe it was being in the uniform. That shield transfers cold like nobody's business._

_Stark can't put a little hand warmer in the grip? He's slipping._ And then she didn't fuss, which was half the reason he went with jokes in the first place. 

_Next year I'll get your nieces and nephews bleacher seats on the parade route._

_As long as I get credit for being the best Aunt ever i'm good with that._

_Well, I wouldn't offer for just anyone._

There was a pause and he was mildly concerned that had crossed some sort of line. He tried to convince himself it wasn't any more serious than other things they'd written to each other as Tony and the others checked the bird for doneness and brought it in to start dinner.

His relationship - friendship - with Sharon was so strange he was never entirely sure where the line was between friendly and uncomfortable. His pocket buzzed as they were passing dishes around the table and he had to wait till they were done before he could check it.

_I have been sent to the den with the kids and Disney movies. It's like I'm getting punished for not giving a shit about football._ Being with her family seemed to bring out the potty mouth in her.

_Never been much for it. I'm a baseball guy myself._ Bucky was giving him an odd look, he imagined for texting under the table.

_As any true New Yorker should be. I talked them into letting my stream the old Captain America Saturday morning cartoon from the 90s._ This with a cell phone shot of three boys and two little girls lined up in front of a TV that, sure enough, had what looked like cartoon versions of him and the Commandos on it.

_Reminders that you watched a cartoon about me as a child make me feel old._

_That makes you feel old? That's a really low bar, Rogers._

_Sometimes everything makes me feel old._ He put the phone down so he could eat some of his food. Bucky was busy talking to Doc now, but he had apparently attracted Natasha's attention. He could probably do to be a little less obvious.

He was not going to be one of those people that was more interested in their phone than the people around him. So he tucked the phone in his pocket and tried to engage in the conversation. It buzzed on and off for the next half hour, then grew silent. He told himself he'd explain later. It would be an easier explanation than convincing Nat he hadn't been talking to anyone.

There was a break between food and dessert, people mingled and refilled drinks and went to the bathroom. Steve ducked out onto the balcony despite the frigid wind to check his string of messages.

_I forgot how cheesy this show is._

_You, and all the commandos, have catch phrases._

_The kids only made it an episode and a half. I'm now watching Frozen._

_I have been told I cannot sing along._

_Sorry, you're busy. I'll stop bugging you._

He grinned, and texted back. _Not a bother. Just eating. Do you really sing to Disney movies? Is there video?_

_There is not video because I am the only one in the room with a phone. Also, I am an awesome singer and totally rock it at karaoke._

_I'm going to file that information away for later._ He stared at the message once he'd sent it. It was really hard to convince himself they weren't flirting, because they clearly _were_.

_You do that. But also remember I expect to hear you, too. Perhaps a rousing chorus of Star Spangled Man with a Plan?_

"I don't think I've ever seen you smile like that before."

Steve turned with a start, to find Nat had joined him on the balcony. He shoved his phone in his pocket and pulled his coat tighter closed. "Hey," he said, because he had to say something.

She stepped closer and leaned her arms on the balcony next to him. "Got somewhere else you'd rather be?"

He looked over at her. "Now, where would I possibly go?"

"To be with whoever you've been texting with." She grinned. "Don't deny it, you're still a terrible liar."

"I do have friends outside of this building, you know."

"And one of them makes you smile like you're young again. Who is he-or-she?"

He was well aware that the more he tried not to answer, the more she'd poke, and the bigger deal it would seem like. Which, he supposed, it was. If they were really just two friends exchanging funny messages, would he really feel so hesitant to tell her? He sighed and said, "The nurse."

Her jaw actually dropped, which almost made whatever was coming next worth it. Not a lot of people surprised Natasha Romanov. "You called her."

"Not exactly. She tracked me down when Peggy died, so I could come to the funeral. We exchanged emails."

"And now you're texting." She looked from him out to the view of the city. "Because she reminds you of Peggy?"

" _No._ " He cleared his throat. "I know it's weird that she's her. . . grand niece, I guess? They're rather different people." He sighed. "But this is what everyone would think, isn't it?"

Nat shrugged. "It would certainly cross their minds. On the surface they have some similarities. But I believe you that that isn't the motivation. You are not that brand of creepy." She squinted. "I didn't know her well, just saw her a few times when she was new to SHIELD. She had an excellent record."

"And yet you were trying to set me up with her."

"I was trying to set you up with _anyone_. You were trapped in this dark little rut of work and depression. Sam would also have been acceptable, if that was your preference."

That made Steve laugh. "I really was not hitting on him that morning."

"I'm now kind of concerned you don't know what flirting looks like."

He was quiet a moment. "I wasn't ready. I know it was 70 years for all of you, but to me it was about five minutes. When I went into the ice, I had a woman I was madly in love with. I woke up and she was still alive. And sick enough she still cried about half the times I went to see her." He glanced over at her. "Doesn't turn off like a light switch, you know?" 

She glanced over her shoulder, at the crowd still milling about the penthouse. Steve wondered if she was looking at Clint. "I know." She looked back at him. "So are you just friends? Or are you. . . has the switch flipped?"

"I don't know. I have no idea what is going on. Other than being fairly certain that all either of has the time for is correspondence and dinner once a quarter."

Her mouth quirked and he realized admitting to the dinner was probably too much. "And texting at holiday dinners."

"It is occasionally boring to go to these sort of things without a date."

"Ah." She nodded. "Well, on that note, I'd better go make sure no one is forcing Clint to socialize."

"Natasha," he said, and when she looked at him, he added. "Please don't say anything to anyone." 

Her mouth twisted up into an unhappy little moue. "I won't tell. But I don't lie to Clint. So if by some bizarre chance he develops a sudden interest in your love life and asks me, I'm going to be honest."

That made him smile. "I can live with that. Gossip he is not. I just. . . Bucky doesn't even know. Partially because there really isn't much to know. But I'd like to figure it out without an audience."

"I think Bucky is distracted enough you could be conducting an affair under his nose and he'd not notice. But I know all about needing time to figure things out. And I am happy to help you have that."

"Thank you. You're a good friend."

"I try." She headed for the door, then called over her shoulder. "Oh, they're gonna serve dessert soon."

"I'll be in in a minute," he told her.

She nodded and closed the door behind her. He looked back at his phone to see Sharon had sent him more messages.

_Oh! Pie time!_

_Been her daughter twenty nine years, Mom still doesn't remember what kind of pie I like._

_I suppose it's time to confess, I don't like apple pie._

_Really any fruit pies. I like meringues._

_I understand if we can no longer be friends._

He grinned at his phone for a moment, then replied. _This is a closely guarded secret, being Captain America and all. But I HATE apple pie._

_I think whatever restaurant we go to should have meringue pie on the dessert menu._

_I will look into that. But for the moment I should go try and claim some of our pie. I think Darcy just took the whole lemon meringue._

_Good thing I'm not there, you'd have a cat fight on your hands._

_Maybe next year,_ he sent before he could think better of it.

Her pause was long enough he wondered if he'd thrown her a bit as well. _I suppose "I'm having dinner with the Avengers" is the only excuse my mother would accept for missing Thanksgiving._

_We do throw one hell of a party. Going to get pie now._ He tucked the phone into his pocket and went back inside.


	7. Chapter 7

Sharon really wanted to wear another dress for their dinner. She had one all picked out, she'd even packed it, just in case. But the weather when she stepped out of the training facility was frigid and slushy, biting right through the suit she was wearing. She huddled in her coat and sprinted for the subway, already mourning her dress.

She was in wool slacks and a cashmere sweater with several layers beneath it instead of her pretty dress. Steve smiled quite widely when he saw her, regardless. This time, he held out his arms and hugged her. It both surprised her, and seemed completely natural.

He smelled really good and his arms enveloped her completely. For a moment she just sighed and rested her head against his shoulder, then leaned back. "It's really good to see you."

"You too," he replied, before slowly letting her go. She looked over his shoulder at the hole in the wall restaurant behind him. Not exactly a dress sort of place, really. "I know what you're thinking. But this is the best pizza in the city."

She titled her head to look back at him. "So this would be a bad time to tell you I prefer deep dish." She laughed at his expression and patted his arm. "Kidding. Kidding."

"You can order some Sicilian and like it," he told her, holding the door open.

"I'm sure it's delicious." It was warm enough inside she could unwind her scarf and tug her gloves off. "Someday I'm going to retire to the tropics."

"Hey, you know how I feel about the cold."

They ordered at the counter. The guy teased her for ordering a "girly" pizza when she asked for Margherita. Then they found a table in the back and sat with their drinks and table number to wait for the pizza. Sharon shed her hat and coat when they sat. "I'm looking forward to getting back to DC. There's snow, but none of this frigid wind and slush."

"How is your training or conference or whatever it is?"

"Training. Cyber terrorism. It's actually pretty interesting. Today was the last day and tomorrow is an optional review day. I may pop in to ask some questions, but at least I don't have to be up at seven to go in." She smiled. "No curfew."

He ducked his head. "Good to know. This is the city that never sleeps."

"You know, I have heard that. And I was promised ice skating."

"I did not forget. Though I may at some point require you to sing for me."

"Oh, God." She'd just been thinking how much fun he was to tease. But obviously he could give as good as he got. "I _suppose_ that could be arranged."

"We'll just have an evening of mutual embarrassment, and that will be that."

"And then we can never speak of it again."

Their pizza arrived then. His was a whole full-sized pie, the kind that should feed several people. "My metabolism burns four times faster than a regular person."

"So I get to relive growing up with two teenaged male athletes, got it." She picked up one of her pieces of pizza and took an experimental bite. Okay, this was the best bite of pizza she'd ever had. She took a bigger bite and gestured to the slice while making happy noises in an effort to convey that thought.

For a moment he just stared at her, then swallowed and picked up one of his pizza slices. "During the war they ended up giving me four times the rations—literally just four standard ration packs."

She paused to drink some soda - the sauce was hot. "Were you just always hungry? I remember a few days when Matt's team was in the finals I think he literally ate every hour. Just constant plates of food."

"Pretty much. I learned not to be picky. I opened a lot of cans." He'd consumed his pizza slice in three bites, and was on to the next one. "Funny thing is, the rations also came with cigarettes and condoms, and I got four times of everything. And I never smoked. So the boys would raid my ration kits every day."

Asking about the condoms was a bad idea. She would not do it. She'd shove the rest of the pizza slice in her mouth first. "Did the women get the same kits?" Okay, that wasn't too bad.

"You know, I have no idea. For ease of distribution, I'd think yes, but I don't know. I never asked," he added. "She didn't smoke either, but none of the men would have dared touching her stuff. Everyone liked keeping their fingers."

Sharon laughed. "I was just picturing the nurses taking their condoms down to the dance halls and chortling at their government sanctioned premarital sex." She took another bite of pizza before suggesting, "Maybe she shared her cigarettes with them."

"Nah," he said with a smile. "She didn't like the smell." He took another gigantic bite of his pizza. "The nurses would be fed out of the mess—anybody who was with any sort of a support unit, even the evac hospitals, were settled enough to have real food. You would get hygiene items. If I had to guess they replaced the condoms with, you know, lady supplies." 

He stumbled over the words a little, which was kind of adorable, really. "That would probably make sense. She never talked about her actual combat experience. Though that's actually pretty common with vets." The slices were so big she couldn't finish her second, so she nudged the remains closer to him and sipped her soda.

Steve nodded, perhaps acknowledging that he would eat it, once he was done with his pie—which he was now halfway through. "She didn't come into the field with us too often. But she was tough as nails when she did."

"I have no doubt. She worked with the Commandos through the end of the war, before coming here with the SSR."

He ate a whole slice before saying, "I'm not here because you remind me of her."

She stopped with her drink halfway to her mouth. Putting the cup down with a small thunk she started to say, "I didn't-" but stopped herself, because it wasn't like the thought hadn't occurred to her. "That's good to hear," she said instead.

"I originally wanted to stay in touch just as some sort of connection, but that hasn't been relevant for a long time now. I just like talking to you."

"I like talking to you, too," she said quietly. "I figure. . . she's always going to be there, you know? As common ground. So we can either embrace it and make it not taboo or try to dance around it and then it becomes a Thing."

"I can see how it would be, you know. . . weird."

"Yes, it is." That was probably too emphatic. She took a sip of soda and tried again. "I mean, it has to be weird for you, knowing I've heard these stories about you. I certainly never thought I'd meet the star of my childhood bedtime stories." That might have made it worse. "She didn't talk _just_ about you. There was also a lot of stories of her time in the SSR after the war and founding SHIELD. And Uncle Daniel."

"Eh. Childhood stories—and the TV shows and who knows what else—aren't the things that bother me. That's mostly Captain America. That isn't really me."

That was a very good point. And a distinction that Peggy had made as well, though not one Sharon had understood until she was older. "Yeah. She always kept Steve Rogers to herself." Sharon picked up her cup again, and added, "Well, except for the grenade story."

"I don't think either of us were ever people to kiss and tell," he replied.

He finished the rest of his pizza and the remnants of hers as they wandered on to slightly safer topics of work and the holidays.

"I missed last year so I've been ordered to make an appearance at Christmas no matter what," she told him as they ventured back out into the cold. "I don't think anything short of a national emergency or death would be an acceptable excuse. And I'm not so sure about death."

"I will be here, at another one of Stark's parties. He does Thanksgiving, Christmas, and then a massive New Years bash." He looked over at her, like he wanted to say something, but closed his mouth. She wondered if he'd been about to invite her to said New Year's bash.

"What do superheroes give each other for Christmas?" she asked, attempting to keep the mood light. "Do you get a lot of shield polish?"

"It doesn't get polished, but it does get painted. It holds paint pretty poorly, so it constantly needs to be repainted. As for gifts I sometimes get my own memorabilia, which is kind of weird. A lot of books, especially history books. Stark gives gadgets. Natasha got me a set of oil pastels. Told me I draw everything in black and white, and it depressed her."

He stepped off the sidewalk to flag down a cab to take them to Rockefeller. Sharon asked, "Is there anything you'd like for Christmas?"

Steve squinted up at the sky, where snow was beginning to fall again. "Better weather?"

"I don't know if I know any sun dances," she said as a cab slid up to them. Steve held the door open for her to climb in and the heated interior was a nice respite.

"I haven't done any shopping yet," he commented. "Bucky and I are going out this weekend, supposedly. He thinks I should just buy everything on the internet. He'd really embraced modern times, I tell you." 

She had to admit, she found the moments when he sounded like an old fogey kind of cute. "I think online shopping is very convenient when you're busy. But some things you need to buy in person. I always need to wander when I'm Christmas shopping. See what inspires me."

"Yeah, exactly. Now I almost wish I'd invited you instead of him. You wouldn't whine the whole time." He tilted his head. "Though I do need to make sure he buys Doc something nice."

"Oh, yeah. First Christmas together as a couple. That's a lot of pressure."

"He seems happy," Steve said, and she didn't miss the undertone of wistfulness in his voice.

She considered reaching over and touching his hand and found herself over analyzing the action. Was it something she'd do to any of her other friends? Would it be misinterpreted as an advance, given the topic of conversation? What would she do if he shook her off? What would she do if he _didn't_?

The question became moot when the driver pulled up in front of Rockefeller Center and Steve opened the door, handing the driver some cash.  
 Even in the middle of New York at night Rockefeller stood out at Christmas. For a moment after she climbed out of the cab Sharon just took a moment to stare. He stood next to her and they admired the brightly lit tree. Then she got a good look at the very long line of people waiting for the rink.

She waited for Steve to notice as well before saying, "I suppose we could put the mutual embarrassment off for another day."

"Ye of little faith," he said. He held out a hand, and inclined his head back towards the doors of building behind him. "Come on."

This time she didn't give herself time to think before taking his hand. "Where are we going?" she asked as he lead her to the building.

"There is a VIP entrance," he said. "All embarrassment, no waiting." They went into the lobby, down a flight of stairs and a hallway, and emerged into a glassed-in room right on the rink. There was a coffee/hot chocolate bar and people sitting on benches putting on skates.

She could tell she was probably grinning like an idiot but she didn't care. "I've never been a VIP before."

"Occasionally—just occasionally—I will abuse my fame." He fished a pair of tickets out of his pocket, and handed them over to the woman manning a podium by the door. 

Sharon watched her check the tickets against a list she had. "Thank you. May I see. . ." she trailed off in the the middle of what sounded like a request for ID. Instead she looked from him to the list and then back, eyes getting the size of saucers. The staring lasted long enough Sharon felt a flare of annoyance. For heaven's sake, this was a VIP entrance in New York City. In no way was Steve the most famous person ever to hand this woman tickets. 

He was, however, one of the few ones who would casually hand over tickets and secretly hope just once someone actually did ask him for a photo ID.

The saucer-eyed stare turned to Sharon and she gave the woman her best alpha-girl smile and raised her brow. The ticket taker cleared her throat and just waved them in. Steve sighed a little and headed towards the skate rental. Sharon made a point of hanging onto his hand as he did.

"We're all on a spectrum, about our fame. Stark wants the whole world to know he's Iron Man. Banner wants _no one_ to know he's the Hulk. Barton hides from cameras and Thor poses with tourists." They each requested and received a pair of skates from a twenty-something guy who either didn't notice or didn't care that Captain America was ice skating. 

"And Natasha testifies in Congress," she added, sitting on the bench to tug her boots off. "I always envied her her name. She was usually Natalie when she went undercover. I got some awful almost-but-not-quite my names over the years."

"I can imagine that. I've never been undercover, obviously." He gestured at the ticket taker in explanation. He stopped in the middle of lacing his skates and sighed. "Hey, something I just thought of. We go out there, I may be recognized. And then photographed. _You_ may be photographed."

She finished tying her second skate and reached up to twist her hair onto the back of her head and tucked it under her hat. Then she resettled her scarf so it hid the lower part of her face. As an after thought, she reached over and took his scarf off and retied it so he could do the same. "Bring 'em on."

The way he smiled at her was entirely worth it, even though she could now see it only around his eyes. He stood carefully on the skates. "Here we go."

"It occurs to me," she said as she also got to her feet. "That it's been at least a decade since I was on skates. This may get the mutual embarrassment out of the way early."

"This is my very first time, so you still have one up on me." They clumped their way awkwardly out onto the ice. 

Sharon wobbled for a moment, but muscle memory kicked in and she managed to glide for a few feet and stop herself, then turned back and skated back to Steve. "Step and slide," she told him.

Aunt Peggy had told her a bunch of things about Project Rebirth, and some of the remarkable effects of the serum she'd noticed in the field. One of them was Steve's ability to pick up just about anything with astonishing speed. She hadn't really appreciated how impressive that was until she saw it in action. In the course of a single lap he went from awkwardly trying to hold himself upright to skating effortlessly. By the second lap he actually turned around to skate _backwards_ so he could talk to her.

She actually had to grab his arm a few times when one of her feet tried to go the wrong way. "This is far less embarrassing than you shoving me onto a karaoke stage," she pointed out at one point. "Just saying."

"If you can actually sing, it won't be that bad."

"I don't think I can sing as well as you can now skate." She grabbed at his arm again and he seemed to decide it was easier to just keep holding her up. "I might need an Irish coffee or something before hand to work up the nerve. Loosen up the vocal chords."

"Not too much. I wouldn't be a gentleman if I let you sing piss drunk."

"If you think I'd be piss drunk after one spiked coffee then we need to talk."

"Hard drinker, are we? I'll have to remember that."

She grinned at him, though he probably couldn't see through the scarf, and caught the rail as they neared the gate. "Shall we move on?"

"Technically the tickets allow for an hour and a half of ice time." He held up his hand, clearly having caught the look on her face. "Come on, let's get you some hot chocolate."

"That is acceptable." They hobbled off the ice and sat with their hot chocolate, which was delicious and creamy. She buried her nose in the steam to warm up.

"I guess all cold isn't terrible," he said quietly.

She looked over a him and found him watching her. With a smile, she nudged his shoulder with hers. "I had fun, too."

He nodded, and leaned over to unlace his skates. "I wish we could do this more often. Dinner and. . . whatever."

Fortunately, she was bent to take off her own skates so he didn't see her reaction to "whatever." Her brain went down very inappropriate paths sometimes. "So do I," she said, tugging her boots back on. She had seriously considered putting in for a transfer to the New York office, especially if her promotion didn't pan out. But it seemed strange and possibly short sighted to uproot her life based on a friendship. "We're both so busy."

"And we live in different cities," he added.

"And we both travel, often at short notice." She straightened and looked over at him. "Maybe two dinners in six months is all we can manage."

His eyes searched her face. "It's something, isn't it?"

She reached over and covered his hand with hers. "It's definitely something. My track coach used to say no matter how slow you're running you're still lapping the people on the stands. Something is always better than nothing."

He turned his hand over and squeezed hers. "I am really glad you called me."

If this were a date, this is where she would kiss him. But it wasn't a date and they had just listed several very good reasons why it couldn't be. So she just squeezed his hand back and nodded. "So am I."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes events from Chapters 1-3 of Welcome to the New Age, as well as Girls Chase Boys Chase Girls (AKA, "Who was Steve texting at the strip club?". . . which I think will not come as a surprise)

**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Sent:** January 29, 2016, 10:20 PM  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** Today is a good day  


Sharon,

Congratulations on your promotion. Sorry that this has caused you to be stuck in Seoul at this time of year. Could be worse, I suppose. I was really afraid Bucky and I were going to get stuck in Vladivostock last winter. It does amuse me that apparently higher rank makes your location less classified. You'd think it would be the opposite.

Speaking of Bucky, he and Doc are moving in together, up on the Avengers floor. Barton has officially abandoned his empty apartment, and so they gave it to Bucky. I am both happy for them and

Steve stared at the screen, his fingers still over the keyboard. The word he was probably looking for was "jealous". He just didn't want to type it. It made him feel petty. He leaned back and looked at the framed picture hanging over his desk. It was an image of some farm in the Italian countryside. Sharon had take it, and sent it to him as a Christmas gift. The note had said it was to give him something warm to look at. 

He wasn't even sure what exactly he was jealous of. That he had someone? That he'd put his life back together much faster than Steve had, despite having been through so, so much worse than anything Steve had? He wished he knew. The emotion was instinctual, and probably normal. It just made him feel like a jerk.

He deleted the last sentence.

I'm happy for them, but—Am I crazy or is this fast? Or am I sounding like an old fart again?

We're working on some intel about a Hydra cell somewhere highly inaccessible. So I may be offline for a bit. Enjoy your kimchi if I don't talk to you before you get back.

Steve  
  


**Date:** February 3, 2016 4:02 PM  
**From:** cap@stark.com  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** re: Happy New Year!  


Steve,

You are, once again, treading into "get off my lawn" territory. They's been together, what? Six months? Plus however long they were flirting/friends before that? Seems right on time to me. Sometimes when things start slow they speed up at the end. And even if it is fast. . . you don't get to choose when you meet The One, right?

You want a housewarming gift for them? I have some pretty cool pictures of the Seoul skyline with the mountains in the back? On my home computer I have pictures of every continent except Antarctica. I'm like my own little gallery.

I like my new job a lot better than the old. Time in the field is more interesting and I feel like I'm actually DOING something to help. Definitely not boring.

I am a little sick of kimchi. I got maybe a week of porridge left in me. And if I never see red bean paste in a dessert again it'll be too soon. Yes, I know I could just go down the street to McDonalds, but it seems wrong. I should be on a plane home before Valentines. So Barnabas and I can cuddle together with some take out. Maybe Thai. Or pizza.

Hope you get this before going off the grid.

Sharon

Writing with her made him feel better about. . . just about everything. It was probably long past time he gave a good, long look at what that probably meant. They couldn't do this forever. Well, they probably could, if both of them really did feel entirely platonic. He was pretty sure that wasn't true, and hadn't been for a while now.

He thought about telling Bucky, and asking for his advice. But there would also be teasing, and he wasn't up for that. His whole life was an open book, dissected by historians and modern pundits. This, whatever it was, was his and it was private. He wanted to keep it like that just a little bit longer.

Natasha knew, and he could probably ask her. He was fairly certain he knew what her advice would be. 

Yet, the last thing on earth he wanted to do was rock the boat. He didn't think he could stand it if he rocked the boat and fucked this up and they stopped talking. 

So, instead, on it went.

In mid spring, Stark got it in his head to take all the men to a strip club. It was a very fancy one, but it was a strip club. Steve felt vague embarrassed, just the same as he had when the Commandos had insisted on visiting some shady European brothel. Everyone, even Bucky, made the assumption his discomfort was out of shyness or perhaps prudery. But it hadn't, not really. It was just that even before he and Peggy were anything, he'd still felt. . .spoken for.

The realization that he felt quite the same at the moment was disconcerting. He didn't think spending the night texting her was going to do anything to eliminate that feeling, but he did it anyway.

_Stark rented the entire VIP room of a fancy strip club. Thor was not aware we were AT a strip club until hilariously too late. I like it when he makes me look culturally aware._

_Oh my God, you people are such a SITCOM. Will you be updating me on wacky hijinks? I'm going to pop some pop corn._

_Well. Now I have to._ He tried not to be too obvious about his texting, waiting until people were distracted by ordering their steaks. Stark sure knew his stuff. _Things I have learned: They have no prostitutes on Asgard. There are lots of creepy websites about all of us. And it does not take much booze to get these people over sharing._

_I knew about the websites. Have you never Googled yourself? There's fanfiction about you guys. Any over sharing you want to pass on?_

_I did it once, and it scared me._ He put the phone on his knee so he could eat his steak. _Stark is reproducing,_ he typed with his other hand.

Her reply didn't come immediately. He wondered if she'd really gone to get pop corn. _Good for them. The world needs more geniuses. I hope it's a girl._

 _He seems excited._ The men were now discussing the value of children and/or marriage. He found himself typing, _You want a family someday?_

 _Oh yeah._ That reply was immediate. _I love my nieces and nephews and look forward to adding to the holiday chaos. Not the right time now, but I have time. And I'm blessed with a mom who doesn't nag._

_I used to be certain, yes. Then it seemed obvious, no. Now, I don't know. Thankfully, no one is asking me._

_Well, you better decide, you're not getting any younger. Ninety seven isn't a spring chicken anymore_ He hid a grin at the tease.

A moment later a second message popped up. _You could start with a cat. It's helped me a lot._

_I think the Barnes/Newbury menagerie is enough for one floor._

_Well, play your cards right maybe next time you're in town Barnabas will allow you to pet him._

_I look forward to that._ He got caught up in the conversation for a bit, until someone said something he had to share. _Stark has slept with 600-some women._

 _WHAT?_ This was accompanied by a picture of her in a grey NYU t-shirt with a comically shocked expression on her face. _That's it, I'm writing a tell all book. Let me get my lap top._

He couldn't reply until they were through interrogating him, which was awkward. _Yep. Beat Thor. Also, they think I'm a monk._

_So this is what men do. Drink, look at naked women and compare Numbers. Did they think yours was zero?_

_Stark did. Should I be insulted?_

_If my number was in the triple digits I'd think everyone around me was a prude, too._ There was a pause. _You know I need to ask now._

Stark was doling out lap-dances, which he deftly managed to avoid. _I should tell you 1, just to freak you out._

_But now you've said that, I know it's a lie. So you might as well fess up._

He watched Thor excuse himself and go. . .somewhere, then waited for the chatter to resume before typing. _Six and a half._

_Do I. . . Do I want to know the story of the half? That sounds bad. Or awkward. Awkwardly bad._

_Find a way to get me drunk and maybe I'll tell it to you._ Oh, it was bad enough they were now, apparently, openly talking about sex. Being drunk would not add anything good to this. Thankfully, he was pretty sure that wasn't possible. _Also, in fairness, spill._

Right about then, Thor came back with a bottle of Asgardian liquor.

_I did set myself up for that, didn't I? Fine, but I preface this by saying I was an athlete and popular in high school. Twelve._

_You'd still be on the bottom quintile of this crowd with me, if that makes you feel any better._

_I don't know that putting my Number up against a bunch of obscenely attractive men makes me feel better, but I appreciate you trying. How many of yours were post wake up?_

Whatever was in Thor's flask burned on the way down, tasted surprisingly sweet. . . and after two drinks was starting to make him feel warm. Holy shit. _Four. I'm drinking Asgardian booze. I think it's working. Sorry if I stop being able to spell._

 _I've been hitting the Baileys since the Number conversation started. We can drunk text each other, it'll be fun._ The flask came back to him and he took another hit while another message popped up. _I'm honored to be a part of your first drunken experience of the future._

It had to be the alcohol that got him to type, _I wish you were here._

He could almost see her little smirk when she replied, _At the strip club? What kind of girl do you think I am?_

_The kind that would probably get a lap-dance just to show up Stark._

There was kind of a lengthy gap and he took another hit from the flask fretting that he'd offended her. Then, _Two. Redhead and a brunette. Just to properly blow his mind._

 _This is why I like you._ It took him entirely too long to type that. Only partially because he was absolutely not picturing said three way lap dance.

_I still have a bit of the old high school athlete competitiveness in me._

Bucky was also getting drunk next to him, and poked him to demand he help him remember the words to Dernier's favorite drinking song. "Why do you think I remember?"

"Your brain was never erased. Sing dammit." The things he did for his friends.

The evening got a little blurry after that. Eventually they got on to war stories—some funny, some not. But it was certainly as unwound as he'd been in years. Decades.

In the limo on the way back to the Tower, with Stark passed out on his shoulder and Bucky drunkenly comparing assassinations with Barton on the other side, he dug out his phone to find a message from Sharon. _It's one thirty, I assume you're having a good time. I'll be honest, I kind of wish you were here, with me and my grumpy cat and sweatpants. Talk to you later. Drink some water before you go to bed._

He probably shouldn't reply. She was almost certainly asleep. But he was drunk, and once he was alone in his apartment he couldn't help himself. _I wish I was there, too._

*

**Date:** June 26, 2016 9:18 PM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** re: Happy New Year!  


My supervisor wants me to start helping train rookies. Mostly weapon and hand-to-hand combat stuff. They don't have a lot of female instructors and I have the skills. I'm flattered, but torn. I kinda still feel like a rookie myself sometimes. And the cynical part of me wonders of he's just trying to get more work without hiring someone new. So I don't know. He said I have a month to give him an answer.

It occurs to me, we're due for another dinner, aren't we? Maybe between our birthdays?

Sharon  
  


**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** June 27, 2016, 7:44 PM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** Today is a good day  


Sharon,

Sounds good. Bucky's going to some family wedding of Amanda's over the weekend of the fourth. He keeps apologizing, but I hate the fuss. He always made a fuss. When I was kid he once had me convinced the city fireworks were actually for me. Kids are assholes like that.

I think you should do the training. You can learn things about your own skills and weaknesses training people. Plus, that's one less idiot you'd be sending into the field down the line.

Steve  
  


**Date:** July 1, 2016 8:39 PM  
**From:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**To:** cap@stark.com  
**Subject:** re: Happy New Year!  


Steve,

Sorry for the radio silence, I had to do a last minute trip to the Atlanta office. I told my supervisor I'd give him an answer after the holiday. I think I'll probably take the training position. You make an excellent point. If I want something done right I should do it myself.

How do you know he was being an asshole? Seems like he thought you were special enough for fireworks.

What would you like for your birthday?

Sharon  
  


**From:** cap@stark.com  
**Sent:** July 3, 2016, 8:27 PM  
**To:** s.carter@lavabit.com  
**Subject:** Today is a good day  


Sharon,

I enjoyed your artistic interpretation of my request for better weather at Christmas, so I'm going to give you a vague non-answer again just to see what you do with it.

For my birthday I would like some peace and quiet.

What about you?

Steve

Sharon stared at the email a while, unable to think of any response that wouldn’t cross over from the playful semi-flirting they engaged in to something far more serious. This time, they wouldn't even have alcohol to blame it on.

Well, it was the fourth of July, she could probably wait a day or two to respond. She was still debating going to her parents barbecue or not. For various reasons, she wasn't feeling particularly festive. Home with Barnabas and some ice cream sounded far more appealing.

He texted her that morning. _Apparently my birthday gift from Hydra is a mission in the jungle._

Well, at least it wasn't the cold. _That sucks. I will cross my fingers for brevity and efficiency._

_Enjoy your holiday._

She sent him a picture of a pint of Ben and Jerry's, hamburger fixings, her lap top and Barnabas all sitting on her table, in the hopes of making him smile. Then she settled in with Netflix on her couch, ready for her long weekend.

The next text she got from him was early Sunday morning. _You up? I need to talk to you._

She was technically awake, yet not out of bed. The seriousness and urgency of the text tightened her shoulders and made her stomach drop. _I'm here. Do you need to call?_

In response, her phone rang, like he'd literally just been waiting for confirmation she was awake. She answered with, "Are you all right?"

"Hydra kidnapped Amanda," he said without preamble. "I need your help."

Now fully awake and alert, she sat up, dislodging Barnabas. "Of course. Name it."

"I need all the intel you can get."

It was a tall order, which is how she ended up spending most of the next 24 hours in her office. Eventually, Steve put her directly in touch with Maria Hill, who was coordinating the search effort. She'd just said Steve knew she worked for the CIA and called her, and Hill seemed to accept that fine. 

All her leads came up dry in the end. So did all of theirs.

Steve's texts were sporadic. She knew Bucky had camped out in his apartment, and Steve worried about his somewhat deteriorating mental state. Steve himself proclaimed to be fine. But then, he liked to try and carry the whole world on his shoulders.

On day three she texted him on her way home from work. _I can come up there if you want._

His reply took some time. _There's little else in the world I'd like more. But I don't think I can juggle any more things_

_I know you're taking care of a lot. I was thinking I could take care of you._

_I think that might be dangerous._ There it was, probably the most naked admission of what they were dancing around.

She stopped at the entrance to the Metro, staring at the words on the screen. Her stomach felt tight, in a way that was both pleasant and not. Now was not the time to push. _Let me know if you change your mind. My supervisor agreed to let me set up those watch lists we talked about. I'll let you know if anything comes of it._

He kept her updated over the next couple of days—mostly about their utter lack of progress. All she could report was the same. Occasionally he'd talk about how worried about Bucky he was, but mostly he was a stoic soldier about the whole thing. Mostly.

Then, one afternoon: _We found her. Well, she found us. Op underway. You should be able to hear the boom from your house._

Never had she felt so much relief for some one she barely knew. _Holy shit. Buy her a drink for me. I love a self rescuing princess. Be careful and try not to rattle my windows too bad. It scares the cat._

She thought he'd been exaggerating about the boom. But while she couldn't hear it, it did rather quickly make the news. They couldn't exactly bring the Hulk out and level a building in suburban Virginia without anyone noticing. The storm Thor started for the occasion was so bad it altered air traffic patterns in the area. She honestly had no idea who at the Pentagon Maria Hill had compromising pictures of, but it was utterly amazing the things the Avengers could get away with.

It seemed worthy of popcorn while she sat on the couch and watched the various footages looking for glimpses of Steve. He was pretty hard to miss, not that any of them were hiding. Though she couldn't help but notice—now that Steve had mentioned it—that there was not one clear shot of Clint Barton's face. How does one do that? That guy had to have one hell of a peripheral vision.

Somebody was knocking on her door.

Barnabas went darting under the couch, just in case it was cat nappers. Sharon shook her head at him as she put her popcorn down and went to open it.

To her shock, Steve stood on the other side, damp from the remnants of the storm. She felt her jaw drop and struggled to find words. "What- Are you all right? Why-" Before she could finish the stumbling question, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.


	9. Chapter 9

Sharon’s brain was still frozen in shock. But her body, which had been waiting for something like this for, let's be honest, months, knew exactly what to do. She kissed him back, with the same heat and desperation he was pouring into her. One hand sunk into his hair and she wrapped her other arm around him.

Somehow they got into the apartment, because when he finally lifted his head, the door was closed behind him. She registered that he was still wearing his uniform and gear—shield strapped to his back and everything. He must have come literally straight to her from the fight. 

She touched his cheek, glad that was apparently allowed now. "Are you all right?" she asked softly.

"Yeah. I just. . ." He shook his head. "Life is too short for regrets. Even a life as long as mine."

"Oh." The word was little more than a breath escaping her. She'd suspected this - whatever they were - would come to a head soon. This was a far more dramatic moment than she'd anticipated.

His hand was on the back of her head, she could feel his fingers playing with her hair. She popped up on her tiptoes and drew him down for another kiss. She could feel him sigh, and this kiss was different. Less urgent, more tender. The sort of kiss that would have happened next to the ice rink at Christmas. The sort that said they had all the time in the world to figure this out.

They kissed there, by her front door, for the longest time. Exploring each other mouths, hands stroking hair and backs. As if they were making up for all the kisses they'd resisted.

Finally, they broke to breathe. Sharon felt flushed and dizzy. "You must be hungry," she offered, because what she really wanted to do was invite him to bed.

His smile was a little crooked and completely adorable. "I'm always hungry." After a pause, he said, "What I probably actually need most is a shower, if that's not too forward."

She tried to stifle the groan, she really did, but it came out regardless. Her face now felt uncomfortably hot. "No. It's—I have a shower. You can borrow it." She gestured in the general direction of her room. "This way."

He unhooked the shield from whatever attached it to his back, and set it down by her couch. Looking at it sitting there was a little surreal, but at least looking at it kept her thoughts in the territory where she could keep her brain functioning.

She lead him back to her room with the attached bath and found him a towel and an oversized robe she'd stolen from some hotel or another. "I can get something cooking while you're in there." That would keep her from sitting on the couch and _picturing_ him in there.

"I'm happy with literally anything." He dipped his head to kiss her again. "Thank you."

Someone in those six and a half partners had taught this man how to kiss. Oh, bad thought. Not going there. "You're welcome. I'll see you when you’re done." And then she left for fear of pinning him to the floor if any skin got revealed.

She had sausage and peppers as well as some eggs, enough to make a scramble, which seemed like it would be the fastest to put together. She busied herself chopping veggies and cracking eggs. Barnabas came out at the smell of the food, decided he didn't want any of the offered sausage and returned to the living room. A moment later she heard a thunk and peeked out to see he'd knocked the shield down and was using it as a bed.

The water went off in the bathroom and she tried to think about literally anything else other than him standing in her bedroom, drying off. When he emerged, he was wearing the pants from his uniform and a tech-fabric undershirt that left nothing to the imagination. "If I'd thought this through, I'd have brought a change of clothes," he said from the kitchen doorway.

Fortunately, she'd turned the burners off just before he'd come out, or she absolutely would have burned herself. She didn't think men actually looked like that. Sure, he'd had the serum. But those were real muscles. He was. . . perfect. Like a statue. "No," she said thinly. "You, you look great." She really hoped her was enough of a gentleman not to notice her nipples were now poking the fabric of her tank top.

Clearing her throat, she slid the last of the eggs onto a plate and carried it over to the breakfast bar. "Food."

He didn't take his eyes off her while he ate. She could feel his gaze quite clearly. He wolfed them down as fast as he had the pizza. "Thank you," he told her.

"Any time," she said softly, taking the plate from him. She stuck it in the sink with the pan and other dirty dishes to deal with later, then turned back to him, blowing out a breath. He wasn't crowding her in any way, but he sure made her kitchen feel small. 

He'd stood up, which didn't help that any. "This is why I didn't want you to come up to New York," he commented.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I probably could have resisted stripping you naked in front of your emotionally unstable friend." She closed her eyes and sighed. Well. It was out now.

Steve chuckled darkly. "That makes one of us."

"Ah, fuck," she whispered. She crossed her kitchen in a couple of strides and pounced on him, dragging his mouth down to hers. Both of his arms came around her, and this time he lifted her up, turning and setting her on the kitchen counter. 

He was honestly the best kisser she'd ever encountered. Or maybe it was just all the build up, the months of friendship and flirting and affection all ramping up to this moment. She ran her hands through his hair and down his back. The shirt was thin, she could feel every line and curve of his muscles, but still she wanted it off, right now, so she could feel skin. He lifted his arms so she could pull it over his head. He returned the favor, pulling her tank top up. Though she was too busy staring to entirely pay attention to that. Somehow he looked even better than she'd imagined under the shirt.

"Holy shit," she muttered, flattening her palms on his chest. "You cannot be real."

Steve chuckled. "Someone told me I looked photoshopped once. I had to google that."

"I'm going to reevaluate all those pictures I thought were fake on your fan sites." She slid her hands down, over the hard lines of his abs and the start of his hip bone. He really was perfect. She fanned her fingers out, turning her hands to curl around his waist. And he was _hers._

She tugged him closer and pressed a soft, almost reverent, kiss on his chest, right over his heart. He nuzzled her hair, his fingers trailing down over her spine. "They are fake, I'm never shirtless in public," he told her.

"I'm perfectly happy being the only one who gets to objectify you." Looking up at him through her lashes, she kissed his skin again, this one open mouthed and explicit. The third included a scrape of teeth over his nipple. He sucked in a breath at that, and a fine shiver passed through him. Then she felt his hands cup her breasts.

His hands were rough, and as big as the rest of him, covering her breast completely. Sharon closed her eyes so she could focus on the touch, moaning softly when he stroked her skin. He kissed her again, and against her mouth he whispered, "You are gorgeous."

The words, and the tone they were said in, made her shudder as much as his touch did. Her skin felt hot, stretched taut, as if she was going to break apart at any moment. His hands on her were too much and not enough. She deepened the kiss, arching into him, shuddering as he teased her nipples to hard, aching peaks.

He let her breasts go to slide his hands under her thighs. "This may be one of those fogey moments, but we're not doing this on the kitchen counter."

Well, she hadn't wanted to mention it, but counter cleaning wasn't exactly her forte. She hadn't been looking forward to putting her bare ass on it. She slid her arms around his neck and he lifted her, cupping her ass as she wrapped her legs around his waist. It ground her sex against the waist of his pants, pressing the seam of her sweat pants to her clit. Her breath stuttered and she kissed him as he carried her out of the kitchen.

He kicked her bedroom door open with a little too much force, and it hit the wall with a bang and the sound of cracking wood. There went her security deposit. She could feel Steve's shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Sorry."

"It was kind of sexy," she told him as they reached the bed. He put a knee up, still holding her, then leaned forward to set her down. She looked up at him, braced over her like some sort of Greek God and she honestly couldn't believe this was really happening.

He grinned at her, and it made him look young. His eyes searched her face, though she didn't know what he was looking for. Maybe, just maybe, he felt as awed as she did. "Hey."

"Hi," she whispered softly, which made him smile again. She started to prop herself up on her elbows and he met her halfway with a kiss. It was different again, a strange blend of passion and tenderness, desperation and affection. He tilted his head to take her mouth at a different angle, tongue spearing deep and she felt it jolt through her, tightening her nipples and making her ache.

She shifted, hooking her thumbs into her waistband to slid it down her hips. She wanted him to touch her, to feel his rough, callused hands on every inch of her skin. So she knew he was real, and here with her, and wanted her as much as she wanted him. He took the invitation, one hand sliding downward to wander over her. He traced the dip of her waist and the curve of her hip. He went along down her thigh, cupping it and sliding her leg upwards. The touch was careful, deliberate, like he found her precious and fragile and was in no real hurry.

His expression as he touched her was intense, like he wanted to study her. Memorize her. Maybe he was. Maybe with the way he learned and remembered things he'd be able to bring up a prefect recall of her body later. Remember exactly how she felt and looked, the soft little noises she was making.

Overwhelmed, she closed her eyes, concentrating on just his touch, the way in made her skin flush and tighten. He stroked her other leg, drawing her pants off completely and tugging her thigh so her knee bent. She was wide open now, cool air at her core making her realize how wet she was. Anticipation clenched in her stomach. When he finally touched her there she shuddered a little, and swallowed a moan.

"Hang on," he said, his voice rough. "Birth control?" 

Sharon had to take a couple deep breaths before she could think straight enough to talk. "I have an IUD. I'm covered," she told him, hoping she wasn't going to have to explain in detail. "And it's been a couple years."

He bent his head to kiss her neck. "A couple of years?"

She stroked his hair, tipping her head back to give him room. "I've been busy," she said, sounding a little defensive. "Work. Travel." She paused, then decided there was no harm in admitting, "There was this guy I was emailing I had feelings for, too. But I was trying to fight it."

That made him look up and grin at her. Then he added, "No, I was just wondering why that was relevant information."

"Oh. Well, just if you were worried about disease or wanted a condom any way I don't have any in the house."

"Ah. Sorry." He kissed her again. "I didn't even think of that. Playboy I'm not. Anyway, I can't get sick."

"Sounds like we're good, then," she said softly.

"There hasn't been anyone for while, either," he said. "I think I was waiting for you."

For an instant, she thought about telling him she loved him. It was too soon, too fast. Not remotely the right time. But she was still pretty sure it was the truth. Instead, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, whispering,"I'm right here," against his lips.

He touched her again, and she gasped when his fingers slid over her clit. She lifted up to him almost involuntarily, and felt him smile against her mouth. He repeated the stroke, slow and lazy, as if he had all the time in the world. She had to break the kiss to gasp again, breath ragged, and he lifted his head to watch her face as he teased her. His eyes moved downward, over her body, and the perusal heated her. Then he ducked his head and kissed one of her breasts, sucking the nipple into his mouth.

She gave a sharp cry, body arching up to him. He responded by sucking harder, the pull shooting straight down to where his hand was stroking her, driving her mad. It felt so good, she didn't know what to do, where to put her hands. They clutched at the back of his head, stroked his back and arms, then stretched over head head to grab fistfuls of quilt and blanket. He sank his fingers into her and it was almost more than she could take. He kissed her again, sucking on her lower lip.

His fingers started to move, fucking her slowly as his thumb continued to rub and stroke her clit. Her legs shifted restlessly until he reached down with his other hand and pinned one, eyes dark and intense as he watched her. She arched, pleasure hot and heavy and ready to snap. "Close," she gasped. "I'm so close. Steve."

When he kissed her again it was feather light. "I know, baby, I know," he whispered.

Clearly he was going to keep up this slow, steady pace until she shattered. She wondered wildly if super patience was a part of the serum effects. She glanced down her body, watching the way his wrist and forearm flexed, how his big hand disappeared between her legs. It was possibly the most erotic thing she'd ever seen.

She tipped her head back against the bed and let go, pleasure flooding her. She wailed, body arching off the bed, shaking with the force of it. He held her, letting her ride it out. As she drifted back down, he pressed his face into the curve where her neck met her shoulder and groaned.

Somewhere along the way she’d wrapped her arms around him. She hugged him closer, closing her eyes, and pressed her cheek against his hair. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Mmm," he mumbled. "My pleasure."

He stayed right where he was as her breathing calmed and her skin cooled. One of his hands started to move in small, almost questioning circles on her back. In response she slid a hand down his stomach and brushed the top of his pants with her fingertips. "Do these have a fly like normal pants?"

"No." He cleared his throat. "There's actually an athletic supporter in the front, which if I'm honest has now progressed to astonishingly painful." He gave her a quick kiss and then sat up to take them off on his own. 

What else was there to do but roll on her side and watch him blatantly? Sharon had not previously considered herself much of an ass person, but for his she might make an exception. And, yeah, it did look extremely uncomfortable when he fought his way out of them but the erection that was revealed was truly impressive. She sincerely hoped none of the other women he'd been with were virgins, 'cause that must have been terrifying.

"Staring makes people self conscious," he said as he stretched back out beside her—though he didn't _sound_ particularly self conscious.

She reached out to touch his chest again, stroking her hands down to his waist, then back up. Then down to his hips, then up, teasing. "There's a fine line between staring and admiring."

A shudder passed through him. "Whichever you're doing might kill me."

"Turnabout is fair play," she told him. But on her next trip down she let one of her hands dip low enough to curl around him and stroke him, root to tip. "Or have you run out of patience?"

He closed his eyes and said, "I have as much patience as you need." The words were nearly a growl.

Well, that sounded almost like a challenge.

She shifted, hand still stroking him slowly, and started to kiss down his chest, licking salt off his skin. She knew the instant he figured out what she was going to do, his whole body jerked. But she didn't give him a chance to say anything, just ducked her head lower to take the head of his cock in her mouth and slide down. He plunged his hands into her hair, and they tightened almost painfully.

They flexed but didn't try to tug her off so she started to move on him, up and down. She had months of repressed sexual frustration to work out on him. By God, they were both going to be as desperate and panting as possible for this.

Then she got a little lost in it, in him and the sounds the was making and the way he responded to her. She realized too late when it was too late to stop. HIs hands fisted roughly in her hair and she took him as deep as she could, sucking lightly as he came. In truth, it was almost as hot as her own had been. How many people in the world got to see him come undone? Or look so completely relaxed afterwards.

He tugged on her hair again. "Come up here."

She dropped a light kiss on his hipbone and crawled up him, draping herself across his chest, boneless. It was early yet. Maybe with a nap and some food they could have a little mid-night round.

He kissed the top of her head and murmured. "Just give me a minute."

Brow furrowed, she lifted her head a little to look at him. "A minute?"

He grinned at her, and she might actually describe the look as smug. "Five on the outside."

Oh, holy shit. The metabolism. Her jaw dropped a little. "Are you _serious_?"

That made him laugh. "Yes. It's an undocumented serum side effect. Well. I suppose it might be documented at this point, as our current leading serum expert is probably, you know, aware of it. During the war I made a point not to add it to the contemporary notes about the serum. We were concerned Howard Stark might stop building weapons and devote his life to trying to make viagra."

She had to laugh, because from everything she'd heard about Howard Stark that sounded like exactly what he'd do. Very deliberately, she slid farther up his body and kissed him, slow and seductive. "Well, I, for one, am happy to reap the benefits."

His hands roamed down her back, to cup her ass. "I am all yours."

Her lids fluttered and she moved against him, just to feel the slide of skin against hers. "Yes," she whispered.

He shifted her so she straddled him, and said, "And you're mine."

"Yes," she repeated. "Yes. Yes." She could feel him now, half hard and nestled against her folds. She rocked her hips to slide against him and he growled again, cupping her hips to help her move. She caught his mouth in a rough, sloppy kiss, feeling him grow harder, now tugging and grazing her clit. The hot desperation came back and she shifted, bracing herself up a bit so she could angle herself better.

"Yes," she whispered again as he moved her down a little. Then again as they notched the head of his cock against her entrance. Then she just repeated the word mindlessly, between gasps and whimpers, as she slowly, slowly slid down his length.

"God," he gasped. His fingers dug into her hips, tugging her so she'd move.

His hands urged her into a rhythm and she sat up, bracing her hands first on his chest, then his thighs so she could move properly. Her strokes were short and shallow, but the friction was intense. He was watching her with dark eyes, his gaze roaming all over, taking in every nuance, every reaction.

He touched her where he could, not staying anywhere too long, mapping her like he had at the beginning. When he reached her breasts he rolled her nipples between his fingers, which felt good enough her movements stuttered for a moment. He did it again, tugging and rolling, right on the edge of pain. She moaned helplessly, hips jerking erratically, thoughts scattering. Her world narrowed down to his fingers on her breasts, his cock inside her and the intense, almost feral look in his eyes.

She released his thighs to grip his arms, nails sinking into his skin. She needed. . . she needed. . . "Please," she begged. "Baby, please."

His hand slid down, thumb pressing against her clit. "Like that?"

Nodding frantically, she covered his thumb with two fingers and showed him exactly what she needed, pressure and speed. He picked it up immediately, hips lifting up into her in a similar pattern. She moved with him, moaning again, unable to stop.

Everything seemed to tighten and coalesce inside her, all the little points of pleasure pooling inside her. She closed her eyes and gave into it and the first wave of her climax hit her, clenching her around him. He kept up the rough stroke of his thumb and she cried out as the waves kept coming. She was still lost in it when he came with her, thrusting up with more force and less control. Slowly, she sank down onto his chest, and his arms came around her.

She was utterly spent, drained. She could feel her body still pulsing with echoes of pleasure and she buried her face in his shoulder with a content sigh.

"Okay," he murmured. "We really should have done that sooner." 

She laughed breathlessly and nodded, rolling off him to sprawl on the other side of the bed. "Holy shit."

He turned his head towards her. "I agree wholeheartedly."

Reaching over, she found his hand with hers and wove their fingers together. "I am other wise speechless."

He laughed. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"It was intended as such." She sighed and closed her eyes, utterly content. She squeezed his hand. "Thank you for coming here."

His voice sounded sleepy. He had had quite the morning. "I needed you."

She swallowed hard, honestly touched at the words. "I need you too." He didn't reply and she looked over to see he'd drifted to sleep. Smiling, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Sweet dreams, baby."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references events that occur in chapter 7 of _Welcome to the New Age_

When Steve opened his eyes again, late afternoon light was falling across the bed. He could hear the sound of his phone beeping, but it took a minute to find it on the nightstand. It had been in one of his pants pockets, but they were gone from the floor.

He squinted at the screen, finding a text from Natasha. _Where did you go? Clint said you were "running an errand"._

He'd wondered when someone would notice his absence. Bucky would eventually, but he was probably busy at the moment. He sent back. _I am._

There was a long pause before she replied. _I suppose badly dodging the question is better than lying badly. GPS says you're in outside of DC. Having fun?_

_Why did you even ask?_

_Wanted to see what you'd say. Seriously, have fun. You deserve it._

_I considered a snappy line about taking a page from you about what to do after a mission._

_See? That would have been funny. Helps with cool down, you have to admit._

He couldn't disagree with that. He actually couldn't remember the last time he'd been in this good of a mood. It might have been before the ice. _Cover for me if anyone asks?_

_It's what I do. Take your time. Ignore anyone who texts you but me._

Steve turned his phone off and put it back on the nightstand. It had been a long and awful week. He hadn't slept much, and then had an intense fight. When it was over and they were packing up, he found a strange reluctance to go back home and sit alone in his apartment. To keep denying himself the one thing he wanted, for reasons that suddenly seemed stupid and petty. The next thing he knew, he'd been knocking on Sharon's door.

Thankfully, she'd been on exactly the same page. If he closed his eyes he could clearly remember her look of shock when she'd seen him on the other side of her door and then the taste of passion and desperation in her kiss. How on earth had they thought they'd keep this platonic?

Right, probably time to stop imagining her and go look for her. The night was young and he had the best spy on the planet covering for him back home. 

A scan of the room confirmed his uniform was gone. Not quite up for wandering her apartment naked, he tugged the bed sheet off and wrapped it around his waist. She had propped her badly cracked door closed and he eased it open to step into the living room.

Sharon was on her couch, frowning at something on her lap top. She'd gotten dressed in jeans and a ribbed tank top and judging by the pile of bags on the couch beside her, had gone out while he slept. There was something in the oven that smelled really, really good.

"In hindsight," he said. "Going home for an overnight bag might have been a good idea."

She smiled and looked over at him. "Sleeping beauty awakes. I bought you clothes." She gestured at the bags.

He blinked in surprise. "Thank you."

"I sized them based on measuring your uniform so if they’re tight I'm sure it's from that and not me wanting to see you in tight clothes." She stood and brought the bags over to him, stretching up to kiss him. "Hi."

He wrapped his free arm around her and deepened the kiss. "Hi yourself."

"Sleep well?" she asked, gaze catching on his mouth a moment before meeting his.

"Very much needed." She put the bags down and let him kiss her again.

He wasn't sure which of them unfastened her jeans. He was pretty sure he was the one who ripped her shirt to reach her breasts. The next thing he knew, her jeans were off, his sheet was on the floor and he had he pinned to the wall outside her bedroom. He hitched her a little higher so he could push inside her, finding her as slick and wet as this morning. This felt like some sort of addiction, something he just couldn't get enough of.

She moaned when he entered her, fraying what little self control he was holding on to. Her mouth found his and she kissed him as he started a pounding rhythm. It was fast and probably too rough, but she clutched at him, nails leaving stinging lines on his back. She whispered his name, encouraged him to be faster, harder, begged for more. And when she came she sank her teeth into his shoulder, smothering a scream. He didn't try to last beyond her, and it was so intense his knees almost gave. He was proud he managed to stagger over to the couch and collapse them onto it.

They panted together a few minutes, hearts pounding. Finally Sharon shifted and pressed a kiss to his throat, right over his pulse. "In retrospect, it is probably good I didn't come up to New York last week."

"Victorious sex being better than angsty sex?"

"Yeah. The afterwards cuddling is better, too." She lifted her head and kissed him. "I'm making a roast for dinner."

"I smells delicious. How much time is left on it?"

She turned to peer at her laptop. "Forty odd minutes?"

He cupped one of her breasts in his palm. "So, plenty of time."

The nipple pebbled and her breath stuttered. "Yes," she agreed, leaning in for a kiss. "Plenty."

He flipped her over onto her back on the couch, and took his time kissing every inch of her. They then had the brilliant idea to take a shower, which is how they ended up back in the bed with very damp sheets, and ten minutes still left on the clock.

Sharon was petting his hair idly as he rested his head on her stomach. "How long can you stay?" she asked.

"I think if I don't go back in the morning, people will start asking questions." He really, really didn't want to go. Not now. Maybe not ever. "Though maybe I can think up some additional excuse." 

"You're welcome as long as you like. But I will have to go back to work at some point."

Today was a weekday, wasn't it? He'd totally lost track of time. "Did you call in sick today?"

Her fingers snaked down to scritch at the base of his skull. "I took a few personal days, in case you needed me to come up or do any recon for you."

"Let me see what I can do," he said, and fished his phone off the nightstand. He texted Nat. _Can you think up a plausible reason for me to not come back for a day or two?_

_Depends on who's asking. Following up a lead on a satellite Hydra base? Chasing down someone from the Romanus building that got away?_

_Make something up Bucky will buy, should he notice. I'll owe you._

_Getting Captain America to play hooky. I think I owe your girl some candy._

_I'll tell her you said so._ He put the phone back down. "Romanov is covering for me."

Sharon stared at him a moment, then her face split into a grin. "Are you taking a vacation?"

"More like a long weekend." He reached and sifted her hair through his fingers. "I think we deserve a little time."

She leaned forward and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I can give you peace and quiet," she murmured.

He felt a swell of emotion that was almost an ache. "I know you can," he whispered. He pulled her body against his, not trying to start something, but just to hold her. He turned his head to kiss the long, thin scar on her forearm. She'd gotten it during the fight in the Trisklellion, trying to stop the carrier launch. She rested her head on his chest and for a few minutes they just lay there, wrapped around each other, perfectly content.

"The roast is going to be overcooked," she said finally, though she made no move to release him.

"I'm from the 40's, we overcooked everything."

For a minute, he thought she might argue, but she just resettled against him and closed her eyes. "There's always delivery."

He sighed and kissed her hair. Yeah, this was as happy as he'd been since before the ice.

It was an absolutely blissful few days. Sharon attempted to cook a few times, mostly they ordered out. They managed to go to restaurants a few times, including one with lemon merengue pie. Sharon only got through a couple bites before Steve dragged her back home. They didn't even make it to the couch.

Sunday he really, absolutely had to go back to New York. Sharon's supervisor wanted her back at work and Nat had texted to let him know his absence was being commented on. Reality was intruding and he really wasn't ready for it.

"It's occurred to me. . . none of the things we were worried about have stopped being true."

"You make a good point," she conceded. They were on her couch tucked under a blanket. "But I somehow feel more motivated to find work arounds."

"Do we want to tell people?"

"You said that in such a way that makes me think you don't."

"Certainly the teasing I will face will be worse than yours." He sighed. "Your other consequences are likely much worse, though."

"Yes, I don't think that 'teasing' is the right word for what people will do to Captain America's girlfriend." She rolled a little to lay on his chest. "If you want to keep this between us for a little while, I'm all right with that. I am not looking forward to the the media shit storm me dating you will be. But I don't want you to think I'm not _willing_ to do it. You're worth it."

He pulled her up a little just so he could kiss her. "Thank you." He tucked some of her hair behind her ears. "Romanov caught me texting you at Thanksgiving, she's pretty much the only one that knows. I told her I wanted to figure us out without an audience. I still feel like that's probably true."

"You do like to say we have time." She folded her hands on his chest and rested her cheek on them. "We've only just jumped into the pool. I'm okay with being private for a while longer."

"Might as well enjoy it while it lasts." He paused. "And seriously, make sure you're ready for it. I know it's going to hurt your career, for one."

"That's very likely." He liked that she didn't try to deny it. "But I'm moving out of undercover work into more straight forward field work. And, hell, maybe it'll help with my rookie training."

"Intimidation by proxy?"

"Some of that. Some cool factor." She grinned. "Some of these peoples are kids, Steve. You're a superhero. I will totally be cool by proxy."

He laughed. "I have a lot of trouble thinking of myself as 'cool'."

"Well, they don't know you like I do."

God, he did not want to leave.

He ended up staying the night, and leaving in the morning when she went to work. They walked to the metro together, her to her office and him to Union Station to take a train back to New York. She'd lent him a garment bag to put the shield in so he wouldn't attract attention, and a baseball cap. "We need to have a serious conversation about how this is a Yankees hat. I'm not sure this relationship is sustainable."

"It's an ex-boyfriend's," she told him, smoothing down the front of his shirt. "No, you may not have his name and social security number."

"Being a Yankee fan is not yet a capital offense. Yet." 

She laughed and leaned up to kiss him. "Be safe. Let me know when you're home."

"I will. Have a good day at work."

"Thanks." For a moment she looked like she might say something more, but instead she gave a little nod and stepped back. "Hopefully we'll see each other soon."

He smiled at her, and then very reluctantly let her go. "I promise."

That made her smile and she gave him another nod. Then she turned and walked into the crowd, heading for her platform.

*

Not a great deal changed. Their emails got more intimate and flirty. She couldn't get him to sext, but he didn't seem to mind the occasionally risqué pictures she sent. All the inappropriate thoughts she'd thought about sharing with him she started sharing. She found she was generally just happier. As if a weight had been lifted.

He made it down for a weekend near her birthday in August and they didn't really leave her apartment. They talked as much as they had sex, about goings on at the Tower and things she was doing at work. Dr. Newbury was having PTSD issues from her kidnapping, which Sharon found totally reasonable.

It was just as hard to say goodbye as it had been in July, but she told herself that they'd managed to get together once, they could do it again. What she didn't manage was telling him she loved him.

She wasn't someone who was generally afraid of things, or indecisive. But it seemed like a step. And she wondered a little if it was something that would scare him. Maybe he wouldn't say it back. Maybe it would be messy.

For her birthday gift he's drawn her a portrait, of herself in profile. It wasn't from any photograph, and she hadn't hadn't sat for it. He'd done it from memory, and she was more beautiful in it than she ever was in the mirror.

Then again, maybe he felt it too.

September came, as hot and unrelenting as August had been. Someday, she wouldn't live in a swamp anymore. Steve was going to be in Maryland to protect Dr. Newbury at her meeting at the FDA and she tried to convince him to make up an excuse and come visit.

_I'm just saying, Maryland is practically my back yard. I think Silver Springs has a metro station._

_You are a brazen temptress. Sadly, bodyguard duty involves seeing her home after her meeting._

_All right, all right. On a totally unrelated note, what is your opinion on lingerie?_

_The weird internet rumor that my suit requires a thong is completely untrue._

She grinned at her phone. Steve's raunchy side never ceased to delight her. _With an ass like yours, you could pull it off. Or I could pull it off you. With my teeth._

_Now I almost wish it WAS true_

_Well, Christmas is coming, play your cards right._

_I'd rather you buy something I can take off with my teeth._

_Baby, you got a deal._

He sent her a couple check-in texts the morning of the body guarding and then silence. She didn't think much of it. He was busy, she was busy. They'd catch up in the evening.

When she got home she turned on the news to see there had been a fire fight at the FDA campus today. There was no footage this time. All they seemed to know was that there had been possible terrorists, the Avengers were involved, and that there had been injuries serious enough to need an ambulance.

She sat and watched for a few minutes, switching channels to see if anyone else had more information. Suddenly the silence from Steve seemed ominous and terrifying.

_Hey, I'm watching the news. Are you okay? What happened?_

No reply came. She tried to tell herself he was busy. Maybe sitting in a waiting room, too worried to deal with his phone.

Right. The man who had texted her from the middle of missions, from Boy's Night, from the middle of Thanksgiving Dinner. From other waiting rooms and vigils. So she called him, and all it did was ring.

She told herself there was a logical explanation. Mentally constructed a long, complicated situation in which he'd lost his phone and was worried about a team member and wasn't able to get a new one immediately. He'd call her as soon as he could find one. Hell, maybe he'd show up at her door again. For comfort.

The lie got her to sleep. Poorly, but it was sleep. The shoot-out was all anyone at work could talk about and it took all of her undercover skills to play along with the speculation and interest.

Steve's phone stopped ringing and started going right to voice mail.

She didn't sleep as well the next night.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for lateness, I went to sleep early last night and forgot.
> 
> This chapter covers events from chapters 9 and 11 of _Welcome to the New Age_.

The news still had no new information. The PR for the Avengers was keeping a tight lid on what was going on. Sharon debated going up there and presenting herself. Natasha Romanov knew about them. She'd let her in. Either Steve was hurt or someone he cared about was. Surely he needed her? But they had agreed to keep it a secret and if he was dealing with an injury, his or another's, the stress of "coming out" wasn't going to help.

On the third day her phone buzzed and she damn near broke a finger getting it out of her pocket. When she saw it was from Steve relief flooded her for one beautiful, shining moment. Then she read the message.

_Sharon, this is Natasha. I'm so sorry I didn't see this earlier. Steve was hurt at the FDA shoot out. He's in a coma._

She had to sit. She was on the street, walking back from her lunch break but she still needed to sit. She found a stone planter in front of a store and leaned on it, easing herself to the dirty sidewalk. How could he be in a coma? He had the serum. He jumped out of forty story building and got up and ran. How could he-?

_Thank you for telling me. Please keep me posted._ She tucked the phone back in her pocket and covered her face in her hands.

Eventually, she had to get up and go back to the office. She couldn't just sit on the sidewalk forever. Even though that was all she wanted to to do right now.

She worked the rest of the week. Head up, spine straight, stiff upper lip. She was a Carter and they didn't let a little thing like crushing grief get them down. Aunt Peggy lost him and went on to found SHIELD. Sharon could go to work.

The weekend was bad. Really bad. She mostly sat on the couch and cried, rereading their old emails and texts and wondering why they had waited so long to give into their feelings. Barnabas sat in her lap and purred, trying to help.

Two days into the work week she decided the couch crying was really all she could do and requested a leave of absence from her supervisor. He was remarkably understanding, even when she started crying towards the end. She had no open cases and her current batch of rookies was getting near the end of her training. He told her to take the time she needed and let him know when she was ready. And then she went home.

She wanted to contact Natasha again, just to ask more questions. The other woman had kept her updated with the utter lack of changes, including how Dr. Newbury was stumped. But Natasha wasn't going to be able to tell her anything she wasn't already saying—and she didn't know her well enough to sob in her ear. Though Romanov's rep didn't indicate she was a fan of anyone sobbing. 

It probably wasn't healthy, but she ended up on the internet reading about comas. Coma survivors. Loved ones of coma sufferers. People who had had to pull the plug on their coma suffering loved ones. Coma sufferers left to waste away as the people who loved them died off or moved on.

It didn't help the crying at all.

What it did do, was bring a few things into focus. Comas were bad. Comas were often irreversible. And yes, Steve had beat the odds before, but this time he had the world's expert on the serum stumped. So, if this was it. If Steve was never waking up again. Did she really want to be down in DC, alone, crying her eyes out.

Trains ran between DC and NYC regularly but she didn't think she could bring a cat on the train. And if she was going she was going for the long haul. She found a hotel that took animals, rented a car, packed a suitcase, and got on the road.

A little social engineering got her into Stark Tower—someone needed to have a conversation with Stark about their security protocols—but the infirmary itself had a physical lock. It actually made Sharon smile a little bit. Apparently Dr. Newbury was old school.

She picked it carefully and stepped inside. It was a big open room with a wood desk at one end and a long metal table in the center, covered with papers. There were several doorways along one wall covered in curtains - exam rooms. One room had the curtain drawn and she went to it, pushing it aside to glance in.

Steve lay in the bed, covered in white sheets and a soft, hand knit blanket. Machines were hooked to him, beeping quietly, and an IV ran to one arm. Her stomach clenched at the sight, but she stepped into the room and pulled over the visitor's chair to sit beside the bed.

She took his hand in both of hers and whispered, "Hi, baby."

Not that she actually expected a reply, but the silence still seemed deafening. There was some tiny part of her that might have hoped, silly as it was, that there was something magic about her voice that would get some sort of reaction. But this wasn't the movies. You couldn't wish or beg someone awake.

Talking seemed depressing, so she just held his hand and stroked his skin with her thumbs, studying his face.

She had planned to stay just an hour or so, before anyone came in for work. But the next thing she knew the curtain was being pulled back and Amanda Newbury was standing there, a box cutter in her hand.

There were a few seconds of confused tension. But JARVIS, who had apparently known who she was and probably known she was there the whole time, vouched for her. And then Dr. Newbury asked if she'd like some tea and a full explanation of Steve's condition.

It was so nice to just be able to talk to someone about it. Sharon ended up telling her their winding tale, and she went the entire conversation without crying. She could keep her cover on good and tight if she really needed to.

She actually liked Amanda and sincerely wished she'd been able to meet her in better circumstances. Hopefully, there would be more opportunities to share tea and lollypops with her, in happier times.

When she left, it was with Amanda's number programmed in her phone and slightly better outlook on things. At least now she'd be able to visit him without sneaking around.

She managed to actually get some decent sleep, and a hot meal. Barnabas was mad it was one of those hotels where you couldn't get under the bed, and so she emptied her suitcase to give him something to hide in. Then she decided to brave going over in daylight, during business hours. She didn't have to pick any locks this time.

It was a while before she was aware someone had entered the room—and that was only because her situational awareness was world class. Which meant it took someone else of similar caliber to sneak up on her. She looked over at Natasha Romanov standing in the doorway. "Had to be either you or Barton."

The other woman smiled. "Been wondering when you'd show up."

"I spent a week pretending I was okay. And another convincing myself he wouldn't want me to out us while he was unconscious."

She came in and stood at the foot of the bed. "I got shot once. Well, I've been shot more than once, but this one was particularly serious. We'd been so careful about nobody knowing about us, about not arousing any suspicion. And then Clint steals a jet, right off the helicarrier he was on. Flew it at supersonic speed through Chinese _and_ Russian airspace, to get to me. How he managed to avoid an international incident and/or jail, I still don't understand."

Sharon rubbed the back of Steve's hand idly with her thumb. "I admit I'm grateful I didn't have to go to quite those lengths. But I probably would have. Oh, Stark should probably audit his security procedures."

Natasha smiled. "He's was already paranoid before Hydra started kidnapping and shooting people, and Pepper is about to have a baby. _I_ could not talk or hack my way above the 40th floor without permission from JARVIS. I put you on the list." She sat in the other, less comfortable chair. "Else you would have been locked in the elevator and gassed."

Well, at least she knew she'd done the lock picking on her own. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"When I woke up, and Clint was there, I was so happy to see him I wouldn't have cared if he'd alerted the press."

"And now I'm told you live together."

"Yep. Only took six or seven more years."

Sharon smiled. "It's good to know there's someone we move faster than."

"We're definitely anchoring one end of the bell curve." She tilted her head. "Stark and Pepper were pretty bad, too." There was a moment of silence before she said. "You make him happy."

It took a moment to swallow the suddenly massive lump in her throat. "He makes me happy, too," she whispered.

"Now would be a great time for a platitude if I did them. But I have. . . I've been there. I know how bad it is."

The incident with Barton and the Asgardian had been well known and often gossiped about in the SHIELD ranks. Sharon supposed it was a fairly analogous situation. "What did you do?"

Natasha inhaled audibly, like thinking about it was still a little tender. "Put one foot in front of the other. It's really all you _can_ do."

She nodded and looked back at Steve. "That's what I figured."

Natasha was quiet a moment, then said, "It'll be different afterwards. You, him, everything. Traumatic events change people. Don't take as long as I did to figure that out."

Part of her didn't think she should think that far ahead. Amanda wasn't sure he would ever wake up. She didn't have the mental energy to worry about anything beyond that. But she knew Natasha's advice came from a good place. "He showed up at my door after you all went to rescue Dr. Newbury. He told me life was too short not to go after what he wanted, even his life." She swallowed. "I didn't think it would be this short."

"Yeah," Natasha said, her voice a little rough. They both sat in silence, save the beep and hum of the machines. "People are going to want to come down here and talk to you. That's just how they all are. I'll try and keep them at bay, but I can only do so much."

Sharon smiled. "It's all right. I can still pull up a cover or two when I need to. I managed not to sob on Dr. Newbury's shoulder yesterday. I can handle whatever Stark or the others can dish out."

"Stark will come down here and be his usual self. It's the people that are kind that will kill you."

As she said it, Sharon realized it was probably true. A snark contest with someone like Stark would probably be a relief. Amanda had been gently professional. Natasha was Natasha Someone kind and sympathetic would probably break her. "Maybe if I come at odd hours. . ."

"I'll try and keep the worst offenders away." She stood up. "In the meantime, I'll leave you some privacy."

Sharon nodded, then said softly, "Thank you, Natasha." She inclined her head in acknowledgment, and then patted Steve's leg before heading out.

Over the next two days the denizens of the Tower adopted her. She met Stark and Bruce Banner. Clint Barton came by at one point, though he didn't really say much. There was apparently some sort of "Wives Club" made up of Maria Hill, Natasha and the girlfriends of the paired up Avengers. They caught her coming out of the infirmary one day and insisted on plying her with tea and baked goods. Natasha and Amanda both apologized for not being able to hold them off, but Sharon actually didn't mind. With that big of a group there was no focus on her and her grief. It was the best afternoon she'd had since Steve had been shot.

Bucky Barnes, whom she had sort of dreaded meeting, joined her at Steve's bedside the morning after he came back from hunting the people who had shot him. Meeting your significant other's best friend was never easy. These circumstances were hardly ideal. To her surprise, he just hugged her and thanked her for making Steve happy.

It was the only time she cried in front of any of them. But Bucky didn't seem to mind.

When she was alone in the room, she did eventually start talking to Steve. Just because she missed doing it so much. The reality of the situation was sinking in, and it scared her.

The day Pepper Potts went into labor Sharon had the infirmary essentially to herself. Amanda had gone with Potts and Stark to help in the labor room and everyone else was waiting on news. The silence got to her eventually and she started talking.

"I'm starting to think you aren't waking up." She winced as soon as the words came out of her mouth. "I don't want to think it. The advice says to be positive. To think good thoughts and have hope. But I think I'm at my limit for positive thoughts." She ran her fingers over his hand. "I thought we'd have years. Years together to sort ourselves out. The friendship was there, the affection, the chemistry. I thought we had time. You always said we have time." Tears burned the corners of her eyes, hot and unwanted. She'd think eventually she'd run out of tears.

"Aunt Peggy said you were the love of her life. That she moved on and married Uncle Daniel and loved him but he wasn't you." She swallowed, feeling the tears spill out. "I guess loving and losing you is officially a family tradition now."

She looked down at his hand through her blurry vision. She traced the contours of fingers, over the bumps of his knuckles, wondering if she could memorize him the way he had her. Eventually she was going to have to leave. She couldn't sit by his bedside for the rest of her life.

"I love you," she whispered. "I have for a really long time. I should have said it. I thought about saying it a dozen times. But I just. . . I thought it was too fast, too much. I thought you wouldn't say it back or that it would change things. I thought I'd have time. There would always be tomorrow, or the next visit. And now I feel like you're going to be like this forever and you'll _never know_." She started to cry in earnest and rested her forehead on his knuckles. "Please wake up."

There were no miracles. Just silence and the sound of the machines.

Her miracle came three days later, with a text message from Amanda. The doctor had told her the day before about a treatment she wanted to try. She hoped that injecting Steve with the serum she had been working on would jumpstart the serum in his body. Like a booster shot vaccine. As it was the closet thing to a plan they'd had since Steve had been shot, Sharon had agreed wholeheartedly that they should try it, touched that Amanda had thought to check with her.

She was in a diner down the street from the Tower, catching breakfast before going in to start her vigil. She knew today was the day Amanda was trying the booster and she wanted to be there for any results, positive or not.

She was finishing off her English muffin and trying to catch the waitress's eye for a coffee refill when he phone buzzed. _Brain activity is improving. You’re welcome to come over and wait with James and I._

Looking back, she wasn't entirely sure she paid her tab. Either that or she gave the waitress the best tip of her career. The sprint to the Tower was a blur. The two of them were in the room hovering over his bed, and looked surprised at how quick she'd gotten there. "I was down the block at a diner."

Bucky fetched her a chair on the other side of Steve and she sank into it, taking his hand in hers as she had everyday she'd come to see him. Only today, his fingers curled to hold hers back. She couldn't help the little gasp that escaped her, fingers clenching on him.

Dr. Newbury touched the screen of one of the monitors, where the pattern had changed noticeably. "It's working."

*

When Steve woke up from the ice, his hearing had come first. The radio playing a baseball game, traffic on the street, the hum of a fan. Then his sense of touch—the sheets, the temperature in the room. Smell was the last before he woke up fully. The air had smelled recycled and dry, like the air-conditioned air in a movie theatre. It hadn't fit at all with the supposed open window. New York had a scent to it, maybe not fresh but certainly distinct. It had been the first thing telling him something was wrong.

Now, it was much the same. He could hear beeping and clicking. Hospital noises. Like when he'd woken up after the Triskellion. Though there was no Marvin Gaye this time. He could feel hands wrapped around his, small and soft. Where was he? It smelled like recycled air again. And. . . perfume? Not perfume. It was shampoo. From a little white bottle she'd chided him not to waste because it cost $25. He'd told her for that price it should come with a scalp massage. 

She'd made a joke about the services that should come with hundred dollar underwear.

She was here. Wherever here was.

He'd never wanted to get his eyes open more in his life.

When he finally managed, everything was blurry for a moment. As he got his eyes to focus, he realized he was in the infirmary back in the tower. Did they fly him home from Maryland? He couldn't remember. He saw Bucky and Doc, and then he turned his head and there Sharon was. He didn't know why she was here, but he'd never been happier to see anyone. "Hi," he got out, even though his mouth felt like it was lined with sandpaper.

She beamed at him, even as tears welled up in her eyes. Lifting his hand, she kissed his knuckles, lips soft and dry against his skin. "Hey there," she whispered, voice cracking.

Coordinating his other arm was surprisingly awkward, but he reached up to cup her cheek and wipe away the moisture there. "Don't cry." She leaned into his touch, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm. Then she got up and leaned over to kiss him gently. It felt a little like the first time he'd kissed her, half promise and half surrender.

He heard retreating footsteps and the gentle whoosh of a curtain being closed. When Sharon leaned back Doc and Bucky had cleared out.

 Sharon stroked his hair out of his face. "How do you feel?"

"Really happy to see you," he replied. "What are you doing here?"

She took a deep breath. "Baby. . . you got shot. At the FDA building in Maryland. It was really bad. It punctured your lung and the lining around your heart. You were oxygen deprived and have been in a coma for about three weeks."

He said the first thing that popped into his head, which was, "That's a lot better than 70 years."

That made her laugh. "Stark offered me fifty grand to tell you it was 2075 and I was my own grand daughter."

"Wouldn't have worked. I'd know you anywhere."

She touched his cheek, studying his face like it really had been seventy years. "Back atcha."

"It's probably a moot point, but I don't want to hide anymore."

"That's good, because they seem to have accepted me as one of their own. The wives club even took me out for sympathy coffee and cupcakes. I got the group text when the Stark baby was born."

"The baby. . . wow, is it October? I guess it must be." He shook his head. "I'm sorry I missed that."

"I have a picture. Several, actually. I think Stark set up an internal website."

There was a tap from the doorway and Doc poked her head in. "Hi. Sorry to interrupt. But I should really tell the rest of the team you’re up and there's some cognitive tests I'd like to run. Plus we can discuss after care."

"Is that where I learn how long I'm stuck in this bed?"

"Among other things, yes."

He looked over at Sharon, taking in her red eyes and dark circles. "When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

She glanced guiltily at Doc, then back at him. "About three weeks."

"Why don't you go up to my apartment and take a nap? JARVIS will let you in, and Doc and I can discuss awkward medical things."

"I'm all right," she protested.

Doc turned and said over her shoulder, "James, Steve would like Sharon to go take a nap but she's being stoic."

Bucky materialized at her side. "Do I have to carry you?" That was a tone of voice Steve remembered rather vividly from his youth.

Sharon was laughing. "I see I'm outvoted." She stood and kissed his forehead. "I'll be back later."

"I'll be here. I promise."

"I'll call if anything happens," Doc promised her as she slipped past her. Bucky followed after her, possibly to make sure she actually got in the elevator.

Doc came over to stand by the bed. "First, what questions do you have?"

"When can I get out of this bed. No, scratch that, first when can I get all the tubes and wires out?"

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just once I'd like one of you to be a good patient." Shaking her head, she started taking wires off his head. "The IV stays in until you've eaten, which you may attempt to do soon. I have a cognition exam I want you to take. You'll take it again in two hours and again four hours after that. If all the results are consistent - or improved - you can go to your apartment." She wound up the wires that had been on his head and started on the ones on his chest. "While you're waiting to take tests we'll check your muscle tone. You've been in this bed for three weeks, with your serum malfunctioning, I'm concerned there'll be some muscle loss."

"My arms feel weird," he said. "Uncoordinated." He paused. "And I'm not going to fight your timetable, I just wanted to know what it was."

"That's excellent news." He was now free of everything but the IV, which was the most annoying thing on him, but progress was nice. Doc went and fetched her tablet computer and pulled up an app. "The oxygen deprivation caused brain damage, which caused the coma. I want to make sure there's no lasting damage. We're gonna sneak an MRI in as well. I assume Sharon will be staying with you?"

"I hope so. We didn't exactly discuss it. She'll have to go get her cat in DC."

Doc shook her head. "She's got the cat with her. She's been staying at a hotel in town for a week."

He blinked, not sure what to say to that. "Oh. Well. Then she just has to go there and get him."

"I'll give her a list of warning signs, then. I'll feel better releasing you knowing there'll be someone there full time. I know the PT I used for my knee was fully vetted. I'll have Hill work up an NDA for her and she can help you with a work out regime to get your muscles back in shape. We'll keep doing regular cognition and reflex tests as well as the MRI until I'm confident there's no permanent damage. I'll also be taking regular blood test too see how my serum it reacting to yours. But, considering you're talking coherently, have no obvious memory gaps or dysphasia and were able to move your arms and head, I'm pretty hopeful you won't have any complications."

"I don't remember being shot," he said.

She looked at him sharply. "What's the last thing you remember?"

He squinted, following the memory thread. "Natasha complimenting your shoes?"

Her look of worry melted into a smile. "Okay. That's a gap of seconds at worst. You don't need to worry about it. I will ask Sharon to watch out for any short term memory gaps." She tapped the tablet. "Do your test. When James comes back from escorting Sharon to your apartment I'll send him to the cafeteria for some broth and Jello for you."

"Amanda," he said. "Thank you."

She smiled and leaned over to kiss the top of his head. "You're welcome. Just doing my job."

"I'm excited about that Jello," he said, picking up the tablet.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky arrived about twenty minutes later with a huge bowl of steaming vegetable broth and four different flavors of Jello, which he arranged on a tray and set on Steve's lap. He pulled up a chair next the bed as Steve dug in. "She said clear liquids only until your digestive tract wakes up, but as much of it as you can stomach in the mean time. Figured you'd be hungry."

"I could literally eat a horse," Steve replied. "But I'll start with this."

His friend let him get a few bites in before speaking again. "So. Apparently, you have a girlfriend?"

Steve gave him a sideways look. "Yeah, I do."

"And this was not information you wanted to share with your best friend. I'm hurt, Steve." He supposed mock offense was better than actual offense.

"You were pretty busy with your own shit," he commented.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Knowing you have someone to make you happy would have been welcome good news."

He opened one of the Jellos. "She's Peggy's niece."

"That's a very specific type you have there, Rogers."

"They don't look anything alike," he protested.

"I know, but I figured I had one free shot and that was the best Stark and I could come up with in this time of stress." He added, softer, "I like her, Steve. So does Amanda and Nat and the other ladies. We'd have been nice."

"But you would have been all over me." He shrugged. "I just wanted a little time to figure us out. We started out just writing emails. We were just friends, and then suddenly we weren't."

Bucky seemed to process that a moment. "We didn't know to tell her you were shot. Nat found texts from her on your phone and replied to it. I understand wanting space I just. . . feel bad she had to deal with the worry alone."

Steve looked down at his food. He hadn't thought about that. He could only imagine how that had felt for her. She knew his people and could have called and asked, but she wouldn't. He knew that. That was his fault, too. "I owe her an apology for that."

"I didn't mean to make you feel guilty. Really. She doesn't seem to hold a grudge." He sighed. "I guess I was just trying to say. . . we're family. We stick together. If you'd asked for space we'd have given it. And when you or she needed people, we'd give that, too."

"I'll remember that," he said. "Thank you for taking care of her."

"You're welcome. And speaking of family. Come April, you're gonna be an uncle."

He blinked for a minute, then turned to stare at him. "What?"

Bucky was grinning like a fool. "Amanda's pregnant."

"Holy shit, really?"

"Found out last week." He dug his wallet out and passed over an ultra sound picture. "Due in April. It happened right after the kidnapping, I guess, but she didn't realize it for a long time."

It actually looked pretty baby-shaped, more so than the early ones Stark had waved around. "Congratulations, Buck. I'd hug you if I wasn't stuck in this bed."

"Thanks. I'll consider myself hugged." He took the picture back and tucked it into his wallet again. "She's refusing to name it James Buchanan Jr. Stark and Nat have started suggesting other presidents."

"At least the middle name. You kind of have to."

"She said she's hoping for a girl. She wants to see a frilly dress spilling over the arm." He smiled softly. "I can see the appeal."

"That does sound adorable." He ate more Jello and pictured exactly what he'd described. Made him wonder if he'd have a frilly dress spilling over his arm one day. He hoped so. "Edith," he said.

Bucky frowned. "Why Edith?"

"Edith Wilson ran the White House and, effectively, the country, for the last year and a half of Woodrow Wilson's term, after he was incapacitated by a stroke. Closest thing we've had to a lady president."

"Huh." Bucky tilted his head, considering. "I'll suggest it."

He looked up at Bucky, thinking he looked as happy and at peace as Steve had ever seen him. He thought about smuggling him home from Vladivostok and bringing him to the tower. The big fight over if he could stay. Doc warning him he might never get his friend back. "We sure have come a long way, haven't we?"

Bucky smiled and nodded. "I never would have believed it."

"Maybe we'll get to take our kids to those baseball games yet."

"I think you might be in charge of teaching them to bat."

Steve laughed. "Yeah, probably."

The entire day after that was a blur of visitors. It felt like everyone in the building wanted to stick their head in and see him. Stark even came over from the hospital to bring good wishes from Pepper and show him approximately 400 baby pictures.

Doc ran all of her tests and had Bucky help him up to see if his leg muscles were cooperating. He walked like he was every inch a 98 year old, but she told him most people after three weeks in bed wouldn't be able to manage that. 

It was dinner time and he hadn't seen Sharon since he'd sent her upstairs when Doc took his IV out and said he could go upstairs. "James is going to take you in a wheelchair, just to be safe. I've sent a walker and crutches up already. Movement is good for you, so I'm not going to put you on rest. Just don't hit the gym or do anything too strenuous until the PT has seen you." She paused and glanced upwards as if searching for words. Finally she sighed and, not meeting his eyes, said, "Sex is fine. No acrobatics."

"Because we're not hypocrites," Bucky said cheerfully, causing Doc to give him a quelling look. Steve's instinct was to protest the wheelchair, but considering Bucky had to help him into it, he decided not to argue. At least he'd managed to procure sweatpants and a t-shirt so he didn't have to go upstairs in a hospital gown.

"Sharon has your diet restrictions and all the other discharge information. If you have any pain or numbness or any of the symptoms on her list have JARVIS call me. I'll be by in the morning for another cognitive test."

When Doc had finished her schpiel Bucky rolled him out to the elevator. "Sharon went and got her cat and luggage earlier, or so Nat tells me."

"Good," he said. "I hope she got some sleep."

"She looked ready to drop when I brought her up earlier." The elevator stopped at the Avenger floor and Bucky rolled him to his door.

Sharon was on the couch, dozing, with her cat on her lap. Barnabas took one look at Steve, Bucky and the wheelchair and darted off towards the bedrooms, but didn't roust Sharon.

Bucky pointed to the walker and crutches propped against the wall. "Want me to help you get anywhere?" he asked softly.

"Just the couch," he said. He didn't want to let her out of his sight. "Bring the crutches over." Bucky did so, helping hims sit at the end of the couch near her feet and bringing the crutches over where Steve could reach them. 

He parked the wheelchair by the door. "Just in case." He gave Steve a little salute. "Call if you need anything."

"I will. But I think she'll take pretty good care of me."

When the door had closed behind him, Steve reached over and rubbed Sharon's ankle. "Hey."

She stirred and her eyes fluttered open. Confusion creased her brow a moment, then she focused on him and gave a sleepy smile he remembered well. "Hi. I'm sorry, I fell asleep."

"You needed it." He smiled back. "I've been released into your care."

Her smile widened and she sat up a little. "I finally get to be a nurse."

"I'm sorry for what happened while I was out. I should have told my team about you. So they'd have called you."

Something dark filled her eyes and she reached out to wrap her arms around him, pressing her face into his shoulder. "I'm glad you're awake."

He held her, pulling her into his lap. It felt good to have her in his arms. "It won't happen again," he whispered.

She nodded and he felt hot tears soak into his shirt. He tightened his arms on her, just holding her, until she lifted her head and swiped at her eyes. "I'm going to take really good care of you," she promised. "You'll be sick of me."

He leaned forward to kiss her. "I really don't think that's possible." She sank her hand in his hair and kissed him again, the kind of kiss you gave a lover you feared lost forever.

"It's all right," he whispered against her mouth. "I'm all right. I'm here."

"I know. I know." She leaned back a little, fingers stroking his hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't- It's been a long three weeks."

"We have a lot of stuff to figure out, you and I," he said. "But for right now, I'd love to just go lay down."

She smiled brilliantly and nodded. "That sounds heavenly." Sliding off his lap she scooped up the crutches and handed them to him. He groaned, and she helped him up, then helped him hobble to his bedroom. It was a surprisingly exhausting endeavor.

At the end of it, though, he was stretched out on his own bed, with Sharon curled at his side, head pillowed on his shoulder. She held onto him like she thought he might vanish while she was asleep. "We can talk about the rest in the morning."

"All right," she said softly. He heard her take a deep breath and when she let it out she seemed to relax a little. "Goodnight, Steve."

*

Sharon didn't know how long she slept, other than the vague sense that it was long. She became aware of two sensations as she drifted towards consciousness. One was Steve's warm, solid body spooned against her back. The other was her cat, determinedly licking her nose. 

She sighed and opened her eyes to find Barnabas sitting on her pillow. When he saw he'd succeeded in waking her he stopped licking and meowed at her.

"I suppose you do deserve some revenge for what I've been putting you through," she muttered.

She felt Steve stir, and then he reached across her to scritch the cat's ears. "He deserves tuna," he murmured.

"He does." She half rolled to kiss him gently. "I'll go feed him, or I won't have any peace. Do you need anything?"

"I believe everything I need is currently in this bed."

She smiled, flushing warm with affection. "Then I will be right back." She slid off the bed and headed out to the kitchen where she had stashed Barnabas's cat food. She opened a can of his favorite and took a moment to pet him before heading back to Steve. 

He held the blankets up for her as she crawled back beneath them. "I already feel better than yesterday."

"That's the best news I've had since. . well yesterday." She curled an arm around his chest, sighing when his arm tucked around her to hold her to him. He slipped his hand under her tank top and flattened it on the bare skin of her back, stroking along her spine.

The touch drew another sigh from her, this one deeper, melting her bones. God, she'd missed him so much. His hand was so familiar, all the rough calluses. The way his fingertips traced the bumps of her spine. She nuzzled his chest through his t-shirt, inhaling his scent. 

"Can I take this off?" he whispered. She was a little surprised, but nodded and released him long enough for him to peel the thin cotton off. He smiled, apparently enjoying the view, before bringing one hand up to stroke her breast. He was clearly starting something and she didn't know if she should stop him.

Her nipple pebbled at the attention and her breath quickened. "Steve. Are you sure-" He pinched her nipple and rolled it, just on the edge of too hard. She gasped, rocking towards him instinctively. "Sure this is okay?" she managed to finish.

"I'll have you know I have official clearance. We'll just take it easy." 

His words brushed away the last of her doubts. She _needed_ this the way she couldn't recall ever needed anything else. He was alive and awake and talking to her. Touching her. She couldn't think of any better way to celebrate that.

 She leaned in and kissed him. "I can do easy."

He grinned widely at her, and then sat up enough to yank his t-shirt over his head. The scars on his chest, from the gunshots and the surgery, were healing—they looked far older than three weeks, and would vanish like the others one day soon. But for now they were there, a stark reminder of what had happened.

The sight of them was like a splash of cold water. She lifted a hand and brushed her fingers over the marks, tracing one, then the other. Then she bent close and kissed them, dozens of feather light kisses along the pale white lines. He touched her with the same gentleness, but somehow it was a hot as anything she could imagine. 

She lifted her head and kissed him, sinking into it, enjoying the light, tender way he touched and stroked her skin. She had her own scars, none as dramatic as his, some from work, some from sports or childhood mishaps. He found them all without looking, more evidence he had her perfectly memorized. And that, too, was incredibly arousing.

One finger trailed an old faded line on her hip, a mark earned tree climbing as a ten year old. She knew it trailed down to the top of her thigh, under her flannel pants. And though she knew what the eventual goal of this was, her whole body went alert, waiting to see if he'd slide beneath the waistband. He pushed the pants down slowly, and she lifted her hips to help him. Then he resumed tracing the path of the scar.

He broke the kiss so he could move lower, finding the memories of skinned knees and the multiple small scars on her ankle from a snapped bike chain. Sharon watched him, bare back lit golden with late morning light, hand dark against her pale skin. She was trembling a little, unable to stop. When he came back up, he followed the scars again, this time with his mouth. He hadn't gone anywhere interesting yet, but she felt if claimed every inch of her, branding her as his.

She was aching for him, breasts heavy, nipples swollen with pleasure. She wanted to say his name, beg him to do something more. To make her come. Something. But she dug her teeth in her lip and stopped herself. She'd never been this aroused in her life, she wanted to see it through. By the time he finished his tour - with the line of her forearm she'd gotten at the Trisk - she was panting like she'd run a race.

He kissed her mouth, deep and intimate, the kind that made her forget anything existed apart from the two of them. He pulled her close against him, wrapping one leg up over his hip. Then he shifted her a little and pushed inside her.

She gave a low, desperate moan as he filled her. Her body throbbed around him and for a moment she thought she might come just from that. "Steve," she breathed. He started to move, a torturously slow rock of his hips. Her nipples scraped his chest, oversensitive, shooting pleasure through her. She whimpered, clinging to him, helpless to the pleasure he was causing.

"Tell me what you need," he whispered, nibbling on her lower lip. She could feel the tension in him, despite his deliberately casual tone. 

She wondered if there was anyone in the world who would believe he could do this to her. That Captain America - 1940s, Boy Scout, Captain America - could reduce her to and aching helpless mess with some touches and kisses and words.

Didn't matter. She knew. He was hers and she was his and it didn't matter what anyone else believed.

She caught his hand and brought it to her breast, squeezing his fingers roughly around the sensitive flesh. "Hard," she told him, sensing it was what he needed to. "Fuck, please. Don't hold back. Want to feel you."

He hitched her leg higher and pushed her onto her back beneath him. She gasped when she felt him slide deeper into her. Then it was just what she asked for, hard and fast and unrelenting.

It had never been like this before. Not with anyone. Her body was on fire, hot with pleasure and need. She didn't think she could take anymore and yet she wanted it to never stop. "Oh God," she moaned, hips bucking up as she felt the first spasms of her climax start deep inside. "Oh God, Steve. Steve. Steve." She repeated his name like a prayer as she came, hard and rough, clenching around him. He was still moving and the waves seemed to have no end, seemed to only get stronger.

She may have screamed when it finally crested. She wasn't entirely sure. Everything got lost and blurry for a while. So much she almost missed it when he pressed his face into her neck and whispered, "I love you."

With herculean effort, she wrapped her arms around him, fingers digging into his hair. "I love you, too."

They laid there like that, tangled together and breathing in tandem, for the longest time. He didn't seem to want to leave, and she didn't want to let him go.

When she did finally move, it was only to turn her head a little and kiss him tenderly. "I love you so much," she told him again.

"Mmm," he replied, the sound mostly a rumble she felt. "Almost dying is good at clarifying things," he added.

She chuckled, stroking his hair. "I've heard that, yeah."

He shifted off her without letting her go. "Doc told me you've been staying in the city."

"I took a leave of absence at work. I couldn't - I couldn't just sit down there and wait for someone to tell me if anything was happening." She ran her hand down the length of his arm. "I wanted to be with you."

"I couldn't have been very entertaining."

Saying she had wanted to be here if he died, or never woke up, or whatever the worst case scenario had been, seemed a little dark for their current mood. So she aimed at a light tone. "Well, you were shit at cards but a great listener."

There must have been something on her face that gave her thoughts away, she could see it on his. Or maybe his thoughts just went down the same path. He didn't say anything, he just kissed her, holding her just a little too tight.

When he lifted his head the words spilled out of her. "Amanda didn't know what was wrong or why you weren't waking up. She didn't even know why you were in the coma, why the serum wasn't fixing it. It was pretty obvious she thought she'd need to do something to get you out of it, but she didn't know where to start." Sharon shook her head, feeling oddly better, as if the worry and fear were an infection that needed to be drained. "She had an epiphany after the Stark baby was born. About booster shots and the treatments Bucky had had. It's the only reason you're here with me right now."

He rubbed her back. "I think we need to get her a really nice Christmas gift."

Sharon laughed and nodded. "I agree."

"How long can you stay?"

"I left it open ended until I had a better idea of your prognosis. Once Amanda gives us some kind of recovery timeline I can call my supervisor and work out a return schedule."

"I don't. . ." He lower his eyes. "I don't want to go back to letters and rare weekends."

"Neither do I." The idea of leaving him, even after he was healthy again, tore at her.

He sighed. "I suppose we have some time yet."

"We do." She leaned up and kissed him. "I don't intend to take a moment of it for granted."

"While I'm fairly certain this is a wonderful occasion to make love four times before breakfast, I am both starving and surprisingly exhausted and think I really need food or a nap. Or both."

She laughed and kissed him again. "How about we start with breakfast? Amanda said she'd come by this morning to check on you."

"A shower might be nice, too."

"Sounds like we have a plan for the morning."

Steve was in the shower—joining him was theoretically tempting but a recipe for someone breaking a bone given his state—and she had started making breakfast when JARVIS informed her Amanda was at the door. She'd left the shower door half open because he was still a little unsteady. You could see him through the foggy shower glass if you stood in a certain spot, but Sharon figured there wasn't anything Doc hadn't seen at this point, so she told JARVIS to let her in.

Amanda joined her in the kitchen a minute later. "How is he feeling this morning?"

Sharon focused on the pancakes she was flipping in the hopes the doctor would miss her dark blush. "Much better. He's still a little unsteady, but he seems to be managing the shower all right."

She cast a glance in that direction. "Even I am sometimes amazed at what the serum can do." She turned back to Sharon. "How are you?"

"Better than I have been," she said with a little smile. She gave the bathroom her own glance, then looked back at Amanda. "Worry is exhausting."

"Yeah," Amanda said. "It's been a really terrible couple of weeks, hasn't it?"

She nodded, carefully transferring pancakes from the griddle to a plate. "I know you've had a rough few months, too," she offered.

The other women lifted a shoulder. "I've had a lot of tough times. I'm still here."

Sharon heard the shower turn off and went to pour a cup of coffee for Steve. "I'd settle for a little peace and quiet now, though."

"It's probably not the worst idea for you guys to hide out in the Tower for a little while. Let everybody heal."

She was going to consider that doctor's orders. "I need to talk to my supervisor about how long a leave of absence I can take. But, yeah, I hope not to be going anywhere for a while."

"If you need any paperwork filled out I can help with, let me know." Behind her, Steve came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He was walking very slowly, but seemed pretty steady. He waved cheerfully at them.

"You look much better," Amanda called.

"Don't ogle," he called back as he disappeared into the bedroom. 

Amanda looked back at Sharon."I love James but Steve really is pleasant to look at."  
 She grinned, sipping her coffee. "He's like a work of art, isn't it?"

"A man being that good looking and not being a jackass is quite the rarity. My nurses and techs have a chart they make every year, based on an extremely complicated mathematical formula, ranking the hottest men in the building. Steve tops it every year." She tilted her head. "Though maybe not this year. Being taken is a major point knock."

"He is very taken," Sharon confirmed, as Steve reappeared, now dressed.

"You're talking about the chart, aren't you?" He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "Thor's not even on it, getting married is a disqualification." He picked up his coffee mug and took a drink. "Otherwise I think he'd beat me. If you believe the internet, anyway."

"If any more of the building's eligible men pair off they may need to expand the rules." Amanda waved the folder she'd brought. "Sit, we'll go over long term after care and I will leave you to your recuperation."

Sharon handed him a plate of pancakes before he could say anything, so he took them and sat at the table. "Long term?" he asked.

"Yes. Don't worry, it's all very straight forward." She opened her folder and Steve dug into his pancakes as she talked. "The PT will be coming by this afternoon to work up a regime with you. Based on how well you're moving now I'd expect your recuperation time to be measured in weeks, but she'll be able to tell you how to do it safely without stressing your body. I want you to come down for an MRI in the next couple days. I expect it to be normal, but I want to monitor. JARVIS is now programed with the cognitive testing. You'll be taking those on and off for a month or so. He'll remind you. Again, I'm not expecting any problems, but I want to cover all the bases."

She went over a few more things, tests she wanted to run and things to be careful of. Most of it she'd told them about yesterday, but Sharon was grateful for the refresher. She was very optimistic about everything, which made Sharon relax further.

Until she finished, closed the folder and folded her hands on top of it. "There is one more thing."

She sounded so serious that Steve stopped eating and Sharon reached over to hold his hand. "What is it?" she asked, chin up, braced for anything.

Amanda seemed to fight a smile. Then she said, very solemnly, "I am prescribing you a vacation."

He blinked. "I'm sorry. . .what?"

"I checked your file, you haven't had time off since the Battle of New York and that was weeks after you came out of the ice." She pointed at him as he opened his mouth. "Do not try to tell me hiking around Russia looking for James was time off because you are not so sick I won't hit you." His mouth closed with a snap. "I have to sign off on you returning to duty," Amanda continued. "I am not doing so unless you take a vacation. A long one."

He opened his mouth again to protest, and Sharon piped up, "Before the ice you spent several years in combat."

Steve gave her a rather betrayed look. Then to Amanda he said. "How long must I sit around in my apartment being on vacation?" 

She shook her head. "I didn't say you had to have your vacation in your apartment. Your PT routine will be mostly stretching, cardio and maybe free weights. You can do it in any hotel room in the world. Activity is good for you. Go to Stark's place in Hawaii and learn to surf. Go to Europe and wander Paris when no one is bombing it. Find the best tea shop in China. I don't care. Just. . . be Steve Rogers for a while with no other expectations on you."

Sharon couldn't resist adding, "Italy is really nice in the fall."

His eyes searched her face. "The last thing I want to do is leave," he said quietly.

She glanced at Amanda who politely looked away. Sharon put her coffee mug down and leaned closer to Steve. "What if you weren't going alone?"

"Won't you have to go back to work?"

She pointed across the table. "Your doctor said she'd write me a note." 

"I'll feed your cat, too," Amanda informed the ceiling.

He smiled slowly. "Italy, huh?"

She matched his smile and leaned in to kiss him. "I know the best place to find risotto."

"People will see us, Sharon. We'll be outed."

"I know," she said softly. "But we can't hide forever." She wove her fingers with his. "I almost lost you. I'm not letting you go. I don't care who knows it." She knew it wouldn't be easy. She knew it would effect her job, her career. But she was rock solid sure she didn't want anything else.

He put his hand over hers and squeezed. "Okay. We'll start with Rome."


	13. Chapter 13

They didn't leave for a week, while Steve met with his PT and did all the tests Amanda wanted. As predicted, he passed with flying colors. It was good, it gave him a chance to get a bit of strength back, so he no longer walked like an old man. Sharon drove back to her apartment for more clothes to take on their trip and settle things with her supervisor, armed with letters from Amanda and Maria Hill. She ended up with ninety days of leave, meaning she wasn't expected back to work till January. Once she was back in New York she went shopping with the wives' club for "essential vacation supplies" which intrigued and terrified him, based on what Bucky said the wives usually shopped for.

When Stark heard they were going to Italy on vacation he insisted they take his plane in what might have been the most Howard-like conversation Steve had ever had with him. Fatherhood seemed to agree with him.

He even had a car brought up to take them to the airport. As he and Sharon were getting into it outside the Tower, he texted Steve, _Don't have sex in it._ Sharon raised an eyebrow at the look on his face, so he showed her his phone,

"The plane or the car? 'Cause it's a long flight."

Steve shrugged, and asked Stark. _Both._

Sharon rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm torn between respecting the wishes of a man who's lending us a plane and totally taking that as a challenge."

"Did you have a burning desire to join the mile high club?"

"Maybe I just can't keep my hands off you for nine hours in a small, confined space that includes a bed." She said it with an innocent bat of her lashes.

His phone beeped again while they were walking across the tarmac. _Oh, never mind. Romanov and Barton already have._

Steve frowned. " _That_ was not information I needed."

She craned her neck to read the screen and laughed softly, resettling on his shoulder. "Are you excited?"

"I am. I made us a very thorough itinerary."

"Mmm. You're going to relax, though, right?"

Seemed a weird thing to admit to, but he could be honest with her. "Planing things and having a strategy does relax me."

He could hear a smile in her voice when she asked, "Did you include my risotto fix?"

"We can have risotto every day if you like."

"Then I can't wait to abide by your itinerary."

It took him a full week to actually genuinely relax. They spent it doing very touristy things in Rome. People recognized him and asked for autographs, but the press didn't besiege them. He supposed Captain America wasn't as interesting to Europeans.

Their last night in Rome they had an early supper and went for a leisurely walk as the sun set and the city lit up. It was probably the most relaxed he'd ever been. He felt lighter. Younger. He was probably really going to owe Amanda a present for this idea.

When they got back to the hotel Sharon pecked his cheek and ducked into the bathroom, muttering something about powdering her nose. Steve opened one of the windows to get a little of the night air and look out at the city.

 "Hey Steve?" Sharon called from the other side of the door.

"Come out here," he called. "It really is gorgeous."

"Be right there. You remember that first weekend you stayed with me you talked about having me pose for you?"

He immediately went on alert. The suggestion had been a bit of pillow talk after a particularly intense round of lovemaking. She'd been rumpled and flushed, like something out of an erotic painting.

Before he could answer, the bathroom door opened and she stepped out. "You might wanna get your sketch book."

He'd heard - mostly from Bucky, who'd never been shy about kissing and telling - that the wives club had a tradition of buying high end lingerie on their trips. Had even heard that new members got freebies from Pepper. But since Sharon hadn't had on anything unusual so far this trip he'd figured maybe it hadn't happened. Or really was just rumor. Apparently, he'd assumed wrong.

The bustier, bloomers and loose robe was more Parisian courtier than Italian anything, but who was he to nit pick when she was giving him that smile?

It took him three tries to speak, and then all he could get out was, "Wow."

She grinned, obviously pleased at the reaction. "Thank you," she said softly, stepping farther into the room. The robe rippled around her, revealing and hiding her curves. She stopped at the decorative chair facing the windows a few feet from him. "Where would you like me?"

"Um." That was a loaded question. He felt suddenly like an awkward, skinny kid again, trying to talk to a girl who was way too pretty for the likes of him. What he wanted was to grab her and take that likely very expensive silk off with his teeth. But she wanted him to draw her, so he would. "The chair," he finally managed. 

Her nod was a little jerky and it occurred to him she might be nervous too. It took guts to put that stuff on. . . put on a show, he supposed. She sank into the chair with her normal grace, though. Then fidgeted uncertainly with the drape of the robe.

He came over to her, braced both hands on the chair arms, and kissed her as thoroughly as he could. She sucked in a breath and she cupped his face, opening up to him eagerly.

"Is it too much?" she asked softly when he lifted his mouth.

"No," he whispered. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. "I just want you a little mussed."

"Oh," she whispered, barely more than a little puff of air. Holding his gaze, she sucked his thumb in her mouth, grazing the pad with her teeth.

He swallowed a groan. "Do you want me to draw you or not?"

She released him, pressing a little kiss to the digit. "Very much," she told him, eyes dark. He gave her one more kiss, then got up to find his sketch pad. He flipped through pages of drawings he'd done in Italy, until he found a fresh sheet. In truth, he could probably draw her with his eyes closed. But the sight before him was really too amazing not to look at.

He pulled another chair facing her and propped the notebook on his knee to start drawing. Sharon sat as he'd left her, hair mussed, mouth swollen from his kiss. Her robe had slipped off one shoulder to puddle at her elbow. As he worked, he realized he could just see the top of her areole peeking over the embroidered edge of her corset.

Silence hung between them, heavy tense. After a long stretch of his pencils scratches being the only sound she said softly, "Sometimes when we're together you. . . study me. Like you're memorizing me. It turns me on. That's why I thought this would be the same."

He lowered his pencil. "Is it not?"

She chewed her lower lip. "It's better."

"Good," he said with a grin, watching her a moment before going back to his sketch.

To her credit, he couldn't have asked for a better model. She sat remarkably still, save for her breathing. And he noticed that, as the drawing started to take shape, said breathing got quicker. Her breasts rose and fell over the top of her corset, creamy white swells against the dark lace and silk.

"Do you want to see it?" he asked into the hush.

She swallowed visibly and nodded, finally shifting a little in her seat. He slid off his chair and knelt in front of her, turning the sketchpad around so she could see it. She studied it carefully, leaning forward a little, causing the other sleeve of her robe to slip. One hand lifted, as if she might touch it, but she stopped at the last instant, curling her fingers up.

Her gaze met his, still dark with arousal, now with some other emotion as well. "Is that really how you see me?" He must have looked confused because she clarified, "You always draw me like I’m. . . perfect."

He touched the edge of her robe where it had fallen off her shoulder. "Right now you are."

Color rose in her cheeks and she studied his face a moment, eyes darting back and forth. The hand that had reached towards the picture lifted and touched his face instead, tracing the line of his jaw. Then she closed the distance between them and kissed him. He tossed the sketch book onto the chair behind him, so he could give the kiss his full attention. When he lifted his head he whispered, "And now I'd like to unwrap my present."

He felt her shudder and her fingers tightened in his hair. "Please." He eased the robe slowly off her shoulders, deliberately letting the satin slide over her skin the whole way down her arms. She shuddered again, goosebumps rising on her arms. Then the robe was off, leaving her in a black lace and silk corset and dark red bloomers. The robe puddled on the chair, framing her, and he almost wished he'd drawn her like that. Perhaps next time.

The corset had little hooks marching down the front of it, and he carefully popped them open, one at a time. It was breathtakingly erotic, watching a small fraction of skin be revealed with each hook. Five or six down she took a deep, deliberate breath and her breasts spilled out of their confinement, nipples already dark and peaked.

He leaned up to kiss one, and take the nipple in his mouth. "Yeah. Perfect." She gave a breathy little moan and tipped her head back against the chair. His fingers marched slowly down the rest of the hooks as he gave first one, then the other breast careful attention.

When the last hook slipped free the corset fell away, leaving her bare to the waist. Faint red lines marked her ribs and waist where the corset boning had supported her. He kissed the red marks, too, and then hooked his fingers into the waistband of the bloomers. "This is what lingerie looked like when I was a kid sneaking looks at the underwear section of the Sears catalog."

"That was a little deliberate," she admitted, looking down at him through hooded lids. "I couldn't find any bottoms at La Perla that I liked so Darcy took me to a vintage shop she frequents. We had a long debate about what era to go for that would be nostalgic but not weird."

They were probably always going to dance around that, he realized. There were parts of his past that would always be awkward to discuss. But as long as she was willing to dance around it with him, they'd be all right. He tugged the bloomers down over her hips, and she lifted up so he could get them off. He set them aside carefully, then rocked back on his heels to take her in. Now that he knew she liked him looking, like being his model, he foresaw a lot of indecent portraits of her. Most of them probably half-finished.

She really was perfect. Lean and strong, with softly flared hips and full breasts. Very slowly, he skimmed his hands up her legs, tracing the bones of her ankle and cupping the firm muscle in her calves. Holding her gaze he gently tugged, spreading her legs. Her face flushed, color spilling down her throat, but she opened for him. "Good girl," he whispered, pressing kisses into the soft skin of the inside of her thighs, working his way up. He loved doing this, the way she tasted and the way she so easily came apart.

By the time he reached the thatch of pale hair covering her sex she was breathing hard, watching him. He slid his hands under her, cupping her ass and tugging her forward to the edge of the chair. She gave a little noise, gripping the chair arms for balance. Before she had a chance to recover he brought his mouth to her center.

She cried out, hips arching and he held her firmly, right where he wanted her, as he licked and sucked at her clit. She was responsive and eager to just about everything but this always seemed to drive her wild. In minutes he could feel her growing tense.

"Please," she whimpered, still gripping the chair arms. "I can't, I can't."

He lifted his head, and kissed her navel. "You want me to stop."

She sucked in a sharp breath. "No, I just. . . need more. Need you inside. It aches."

It was only then that he realized he was still completely dressed. Well, he could be naked next time, because he really could wait either. She did make him stop fighting with his zipper—which had suddenly become as complicated as a Rubik cube—to pull his shirt over his head.

Her hands flattened on his chest and she slid forward, off the chair and onto her knees, so she could kiss him. First his mouth, then his throat, then the flat white scars that still marked where the sniper had hit him. Another week or two and they would be gone, to his relief. The sight of them still seemed to effect her.

She went to work on his fly for him as she explored him with her mouth. In gratitude, he slipped his hand between her legs, keeping her on edge. She shuddered in response, pressing herself into his hand as she freed his erection, curling her fingers around him. He kissed her throat, her shoulder, anywhere he could reach. "Turn around."

The suggestion earned him a little groan, but she obeyed. Releasing him, she turned, kneeling with her back to him and braced her arms on the seat of the chair. He stroked his hand down her back, wondering if she'd let him draw her like this. That was for later. Right now she was grinding back against him, and he hand to hold her still long enough to slide inside her.

Sharon moaned, bending forward and thrusting back to him, until he was buried deep, hips pressed against her. For a moment he stayed still, her body tight and hot around him, listening to the quiet little sounds she made. "I love how that feels," she whispered.

He leaned over to kiss between her shoulder blades, and she arched her back. He kissed the back of her neck and stretched his arms over hers, down so he could lace their fingers together. Their bodies fit together perfectly. "I love everything about you."

Her fingers squeezed his and she leaned back, so every inch of her was touching him. She turned her head and he bent close so she could kiss him as he started to move. She whimpered into his mouth.

As it got more intense he released her hands, snaking his beneath her to to cup her breasts. It got her to gasp and push against him, so he slid one down to stroke her clit. Her knew her quite well by now, rubbing in wide, gentle circles, just the way she liked.

She arched as if touched by a live wire, bucking back into him before slumping forward on the chair. He saw her grab the chair's arms, her knuckles white. "God, Steve," she whispered and he felt her body start to flutter around him, deep inside, her hips rocking. "Don't stop, please, please." Then her words turned into a low wail and she was coming, clenching around him like a vise as her whole body shook with it. It felt so good, it was more than he could take. He thrust into her hard, making the chair slide and hit the door glass behind it. He tried to be careful, not to lose control, not wanting to hurt her, which is probably the only reason the glass didn't shatter. He knew he gripped her hard enough to leave bruises when he finally let go.

When the haze of pleasure subsided he realized her was pressing her rather awkwardly against the edge of the chair. Wrapping his arms around her, he leaned back so she was in his lap.

She lifted and arm and wrapped it up behind his neck, turning her head to kiss him. Her body was still fluttering lightly around him, echoes of her pleasure. Eventually he lifted her up and stood, happy that he could do so without feeling like he'd drop her. He carried her over to the bed. She still looked a little dazed when she looked up and him, and he kissed the tip of her nose. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she whispered. He paused long enough to shed his pants, then joined her in bed, sliding an arm around her as she tucked into his side.

He stroked her back gently, listening to her breathing slow and even out. He wondered idly if she was going to drift off when she spoke. 

"I put in for a transfer to the New York office," she said softly, head still pillowed on his chest.

He was surprised—happy, but surprised. "Is that going to hurt you?"

"I probably won't be doing what I've been doing. They do more office work than field work. But I met a few of the agents that work there at the training seminar last year and they all seem happy."

It seemed wrong to tell her he liked that. He liked the idea of her not being out there, not traveling, not being in danger. He didn't want to imply he didn't think she could handle herself. "We could have discussed it. I don't want you to be the only one who has to make sacrifices, just by default."

"I don't think Stark is going to move the Tower to Virginia."

"It's not a job requirement that I live in it."

She tipped her head back to look at him. "But all your friends are there. Your family."

"I know. And don't get me wrong, I want to stay. But if we're going to make a life together—which I think we are—everything can't be just about you accommodating me. I'm already requiring a lot just by my Captain America-ness. If you really wanted to stay at Langley, I'd move." 

She studied him a moment, then stretched up to kiss him. "You could come stay with me until a job opened up that I wanted to take," she suggested. "Then I wouldn't just be settling for whatever came first."

"I could do that. I don't exactly have a 9-to-5." It occurred to him that they hadn't discussed they would live together. They both seemed to think it was a foregone conclusion. He supposed that was a sign they were on the same page.

The old fashioned part of him raised an eyebrow at living together without getting married, but that it was now socially acceptable really actually was an upside of the modern world. It would give them some time to just. . .be. Without having to be apart.

"I might look into a trainer position," Sharon mused, tracing idle patterns on his chest. "I like doing it And it would be more fulfilling than the usual office grunt work."

"I know you enjoyed your rookies."

"Nothing like taking a shit-talking meat head and flipping him over your shoulder to show him who's boss."

That made Steve laugh. "You are a credit to your bloodlines."

"See, reminisces like that aren't weird."

"There's more grace in the way you fight," he commented. "I imagine incorporation of martial arts nobody studied back then, plus the Black Widow program's ballet that Natasha infused into SHIELD's training. Peggy was far more bare knuckle boxing, really." 

"It started with her, you know," she said, fingers still doodling. "Teaching me to fight my brothers. She caught Matt doing the 'stop hitting yourself' thing to me when I was about six. A week later I had him in a scissor hold crying for mom."

He chuckled. "Suppose I should meet your family." He paused. "Oh. God. How weird are they going to find us?"

"So weird," she confirmed. "Especially my Dad. He never really got over the fact his Aunt was your girlfriend. This is going to blow his mind." She paused, then asked in a softer tone, "Do you think she would have. . . approved of this?"

"I think so. I'm happy she was happy and had a life and a family and didn't pine for me her whole life. I assume she'd want the same for me." He sighed. "There is a lot of drama involved—the war, the ice, my legend. Hollywood turning us into the century's most tragic love affair. Seventy years time and a dose of Alzheimer's. Strip all that out and. . . she was my first love. She's gone. I've done my grieving and I love you. Not an ounce less."

That made her smiled and she kissed him again, resettling so she was on her stomach, propped up on her arms to talk to him. "Come to think of it, she'd probably find it hilarious. She always thought it was funny I had a crush on you in high school."

He groaned and closed his eyes. "You did not."

"I'm afraid I did. Everyone in my high school who liked boys did. You, or Bucky or one of the other commandos." She shifted, warming up to her topic. "See, spring semester of sophomore year we covered WWII in History. And in the book there was a picture of you all marching. I found out later it was from Romania right after you rescued them from Hydra. But at fifteen it really only matters that you guys were all scruffy and in uniformed and armed. I brought the book the next time we visited Peggy and said - very accusatorially - 'You never said he was hot.'"

Steve laughed, putting a hand over his eyes. "Oh, my God."

"And she laughed and replied 'Darling, you should have seen him with his shirt _off_.' Then proceeded to tell me about flying you out with Howard and you sassing her before jumping. And that it took you three days to get back and that you carried your broken radio the whole way, just to prove you couldn’t call her. Said she could decide whether to slap you or kiss you. Then she leant me her personal photo collection, making me the most popular girl in school for weeks." She tapped his nose. "You and Bucky were the most popular by far, but Jones had a healthy following. As did Dugan and Morita, oddly enough."

"Morita was really popular with the prostitutes. He was the chief raider of my condom stash."

"Well, apparently whatever mojo that was translates into pictures."

"I don't think anyone in Czechoslovakia had ever seen an Asian person before. People like the exotic. I did always admire him. His whole family was in an internment camp, and he came to fight anyway." He tucked his arms behind his head. "I can't tell you how mad the removal of him and Jones from the early movies makes me."

"It's probably better than some white guys squinting," she offered. "The actor that played him in the Spielberg one was Korean, I think, but at least they tried."

"That's the one Bucky told me not to see."

"I still think he's right. Though I suppose if you ever had an urge to open old wounds, that would be the one to do it."

"I'm not as fragile as people seem to think I am." 

She was quiet a moment and he noticed her fingers found the scars on his chest and stroked over them. "Not fragile but. . . burdened. At least when I first met you. When I was watching you. It was obvious that you hadn't dealt with everything yet. And then with what happened with SHIELD and finding Bucky. I suppose I worry about you going back there. You're so much happier now. I don't like seeing you hurt."

"You make me happy," he told her. "You give me. . . peace and quiet."

She moved up him and kissed him tenderly a moment, then lifted her head just enough to whisper, "I hope I do for a very long time."


	14. Chapter 14

_January, 2017_

The end of 2016 had been a whirlwind. After coming back from their Italian vacation they'd had barely more than a week to prepare for Bucky and Amanda's wedding. Then it had been Christmas and Steve had come down to DC to meet Sharon's family. Which had been. . . awkward. Everyone had been properly polite to his face, because no one in her family was a proper asshole. But she had ended up having a very long conversation with her mother the next day. 

She hadn't spoken to any of them since.

In January she returned to work at Langley and Steve moved into her apartment, "commuting" to Avenger business. Commuting translated to them picking him up in a quinjet in a park nearby when there was a mission. He swore coming home to her and her cat was worth the hassle.

Everything seemed to be going well until the Saturday morning she turned on her TV to see a picture of her apartment building with the words "Captain America Love Nest?" under it in splashy letters.

She stared at it a moment, not really paying attention to what the vapid blonde woman was saying. "Uh. Steve?"

He came out of the kitchen, wiping off his hands. He'd been mixing waffle batter. "What's the m-" He broke off as he saw the TV. "Oh, lord."

She hit the volume button so she could hear the talking head. "-kind of message does this send, when Captain America - a symbol of the kind of values our country was founded on - is shacking up with some woman. And not just any woman, our researchers have confirmed that Sharon Carter is, in fact, a descendant of Agent _Peggy_ Carter, a founding member of SHIELD and, perhaps just as famously, Captain Steve Rogers's rumored lover during WWII."

Sharon covered her eyes with with her hands. "Oh, my God, I'm going to get so many phone calls."

Steve leaned over and picked up the remote. "What channel is this?"

Peeking through her fingers, she checked the logo in the corner. "FOX."

He changed the channel, to the news network after it, which looked to be CNN. They, amazingly, were _also_ talking about them, though it was more gossipy than outraged. "Why is this news?"

"Twenty-four hour news," she explained with a sigh. "Got to fill it with something." She heard her phone buzzing. "I'm going to ignore that right now."

He flipped the channel again, until he landed on what, from the accent of the anchor, sounded like the BBC. The woman was discussing rioting over food shortages in Pakistan. He gestured at the TV with the remote. "That is news. We are not news."

"Well, welcome to America." She stepped over and leaned into his side. "I will admit, when we talked about how dating you would make me famous I was thinking it would be more tabloids at the check-out line, not . . this."

"Yeah. Me too." He rubbed her back. "I'm sure it is just them trying to fill space. It can't possibly be interesting for very long."

That was probably true. Something else would happen and push them out of the news cycle. A fire, a plane crash. A politician having a more salacious affair. She tipped her head back and kissed his jaw. "I bet waffles would make everything better."

"Good." He went back into the kitchen, and she followed. "I'd think FOX would be happy. Couple of their talking heads were all wound up a while back over the rumors that Bucky and I might have been lovers, and my refusal to make a statement about it."

"I remember that." She dug out her extra large coffee mug and proceeded to fill it. "Though they were in more of a tizzy when you did that pro-vaccine PSA."

She could actually hear him grind his teeth. "You know when I had measles I ended up with 104 degree fever and pneumonia?"

"I know, baby." A good lecture on the diseases of yesteryear from Steve would make you pro-vax or a hermit by the end of it. She stepped behind him and kissed his shoulder, sliding an arm around his waist. Possibly her favorite thing about living with him was the casual touching. She was never going to get tired of how he felt. "I promise I've had all my shots," she teased. 

"I believe you. They don't exactly let you go to Libya without them." He dipped his finger in the batter and offered it to her.

She held his gaze as she sucked his finger clean, adding a little flourish with her tongue before releasing him. "Perfect."

He poured the batter into the waffle maker. Natasha had given it to them as a housewarming gift. "I do feel like I should call and correct them. Descendant implies you're her daughter. That would be both weird and gross."

"I don't know, they didn't say _direct_ descendant. Though I suppose we have a common ancestor and would both be descended from _them_." She shook her head. "Making it sound weird and gross was probably the point."

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "Sorry."

"Baby. It's not your fault." She moved around to kiss him. "I love you. I don't care what anyone else says."

"I know," he said. The waffle maker sizzled as he flipped it. "I love you, too. I'm sure we'll get uninteresting soon."

It was her mantra the next few days. She repeated it to teasing coworkers. She chirruped it optimistically to sympathetic friends. She soothed irate relatives with it.

Her aunt Lily was by far the worst. She seemed utterly offended at the media's continued inference that Peggy and Steve had been, well, a couple. Despite that fact Peggy had been completely upfront about this fact. 

"It does not insult your father's memory," Sharon told her Tuesday night. She had the phone pinned between her ear and shoulder, attempting to chop vegetables for soup. "Because she didn't even know Uncle Daniel when she knew Steve."

"They're saying the were lovers, Sharon." 

Okay, the first three times she'd been nice. She was now going to disabuse a sixty seven year old woman of some naive assumptions. "They were."

"Sharon Lynn Carter."

"There _were_ Aunt Lily." She heard the front door open and wondered if handing the phone to Steve would solve her problems or make them worse. "Aunt Peggy wasn't ashamed of that, you shouldn't be either."

"My mother's personal life shouldn't be on CNN."

Sharon sighed and looked skyward. "Well, neither should mine."

"You're the one who chose to date Captain America."

" _So did your mother_. I can do this all night, Lily."

Steve came into the kitchen doorway and mouthed, _Are you okay?_

She gave him a desperate look and mimed opening a bottle of wine and pouring a glass while her aunt yammered. "Look," she interrupted finally. "You can get offended and pretend your mother was a saint and the virgin Mary all rolled into one if that helps you sleep. But it's my life on TV, not yours. It'll die down eventually. Suck it up." She hung up before Lily could answer. She put her phone down on the counter and glared at it. A moment later an arm holding a glass of red wine came into her field of vision.

She took it, then followed the arm to give Steve a hug and kiss. "I cannot believe Peggy raised that woman."

"The way the history books are sanitized just amazes me." He poured his own glass of wine, apparently in solidarity. "I admit Peggy's daughter getting the sanitized impression is particularly off. She wasn't a woman to beat around the bush—she had a hookup with some London doctor she'd send the secretaries to get diaphragms. Preferably before Howard noticed them." He stole a vegetable. "I can't believe her daughter didn't get her standard 'Don't get knocked up' lecture."

"I think Lily got the sanitized version out of respect to her father." Sharon sipped her wine and discovered it was _good_ wine. Probably something Stark and Pepper had given them at Christmas. "I don't think Uncle Daniel was particularly jealous, but no man wants to think about how their wife's ex looked like, well, you." She gestured to Steve grandly and drank more wine, feeling pleasant heat suffuse her. "Also, to her credit, thinking about your mom's sex life is weird."

"Fair enough. Bucky and I did discover that talking about Howard's is a great way to get Stark to run for his life."

Laughing, she went back to her vegetables, keeping her wine in easy reach. "I was sympathetic the first time she called. But she seems to think I have the power to make them stop and doesn't seem to get that if I did I would have done so already."

He blew out a breath. "I can call Pepper. See if the lawyers can do anything about shutting them up."

"My supervisor was joking about starting an international incident to distract them. I can't decide which option I like better." She diced the last of her peppers and dumped them into the pot for a quick sauté. She sipped her wine while stirring. "Let's see if we can make it the week. I feel like going at them will make it seem like we have something to hide. Then they'll just poke harder." She looked at him. "I'd like to avoid candid shots of my morning run ending up on the cover of People, or something."

"I'd offer to come with you, but I don't think that will help discourage cameras." Also, he either had to run so slow to keep up with her he made her feel like a turtle, or he kept lapping her. Which was, in fact, every bit as annoying as Sam had described it.

"Maybe I could go out with Sam, start some cheating on your rumors." She added stock to the soup, then the cut potatoes and set it to simmer. "Or threesome," she added, hopping up on the counter near the stove.

He rolled his eyes. "Nat would find that hilarious." He came closer and braced his hands on either side of her knees. "You are quite enough for me."

"That's very good to hear." She took a moment just to kiss him while they were at roughly the same height. "That reminds me. Pepper called to sympathize and told me the Wives are throwing Amanda a baby shower two weekends from now. I'm invited. Thought you could come up, help Bucky build baby furniture or clean out their spare room or whatever it is men do when women are having a baby shower."

"Knowing him, he's probably building the damn crib from scratch." They each had their things about the modern world that they found intolerable. Bucky's was particle board and MDF—and the general shoddy construction practices of modern, inexpensive furniture. Steve had had one terrifying trip to IKEA with Bucky when he first moved into the Tower, and that had been enough.

"Well, maybe Thor will bring down some liquor and you guys can toast to Bucky's upcoming fatherhood." She leaned over to grab her wine. "Did he tell you they decided the name?"

"No." He paused. "My guess is, excited though he is, we don't discuss the baby nearly as much as you and Amanda do."

"If you're worried about my biological clock, it's probably safe until I actually hold the little good smelling bundle."

"I'm not worried," he said with a rather enigmatic smile. 

Yeah, he probably wasn't. They occasionally danced around that subject. Marriage and babies and forever. But they'd already had enough major life upheavals in the last few weeks. She was okay with the dancing. "Edith Eleanor Barnes," she told him, lifting her wine to her lips.

The smiled widened into a grin. "He does listen to me sometimes."

"She said that first one was your idea. Stark is apparently building them a hover pod, but I'm going to pick my cousin's brains for a good gift."

"I defer to your wisdom," Steve said. Sharon shook the pan and took it off the burner. One of the things she had to admit she was looking forward to about their eventual move to New York was that Steve's kitchen in the Tower was much, much nicer than her apartment, and included a big, high-BTU gas range. "The boys have told me that one of the perks of a serious girlfriend is to not have to worry about buying gifts anymore."

She gave him an incredulous look. "What about presents for their girlfriend?"

"Except that, of course."

"I was about to say. I didn't see the ladies putting up with that." She tasted her soup and rummaged in the spice cabinet. "I suppose that is the joy of being part of a team. Someone picks up the jobs you don't like."

"That's a very fair trade."

She finished the soup and fixed them each a bowl while he refilled the wine glasses. After dinner they curled up on the couch with anything but the news. For a few hours Sharon didn't care at all about the world outside their little world.

*

Steve was aware, based on the "Love Nest" reports, that the press knew where he and Sharon were living. He was still surprised when he went outside at dawn one morning to go on a run and found actual reporters out there, waiting. He stopped and rubbed his forehead. "Seriously?"

They all started talking at once, holding out recorders and phones and cameras.

"Cap, any comment on the rumors-"

"Cap, do you want to defend -"

"Cap, is it true-"

"Cap - Cap - Cap -"

He ignored them for a moment, pulling out his phone to text Sharon, who had been in the shower when he'd headed out. All the while they took pictures. _The paparazzi is outside._

_God, really? This is nuts._

_Yeah. Be careful coming out. I'm sorry._

_I will, thanks for the warning. Love you._

The reporters were still yelling questions. He glared at them and said, "I'm going for a run. You can't keep up."

A couple of them tried, which, kudos for job devotion. They were gone when he got back from his run. When he got out of the shower there was a text from Sharon waiting. _Some of them followed me to work. Security took care of them. It was funny._

_There are advantages to working in a secure facility._

_There certainly are. Is this going to be a thing, do you think? Should I remind them I'm armed?_

_I'm tempted to start going out with the shield._ He could also just stay inside. His days weren't exactly structured. Though he was supposed to have lunch with Sam.

Deciding he couldn't let them dictate his life, he went out to meet Sam as scheduled. His friend was already at the restaurant when Steve arrived and grinned when he sank into the empty chair. "How's the love nest?" Sam asked.

"Besieged with reporters."

"I look forward to seeing pictures of you at the supermarket check out."

Steve sighed, flipping open the menu. He was going to order one of everything. "Her family is having some issues."

"About your relationship? Or the publicity?" He gave Sam a pointed look and the other man whistled, picking up his coffee cup. "So both, then"

"The second is making the first worse."

"Not easy being a normal person pulled into your orbit. Take s bit of adjusting."

"She seems okay. Her family is just mad about things the press are saying."

"FOX had a whole panel discussion the other day about whether or not the fact you've had sex takes away from your accomplishments. It was kind of Orwellian. I recorded it, if you want to see it."

"Why would you record that?" The waitress came to take their orders. He got two cheeseburgers. It was that sort of day. "Where did this whole virginal choir boy thing come from? Last time I checked they thought I was gay. That at least implied I was getting some."

"I think it's a lot of things," Sam said, giving the waitress a smile as she filled his coffee. "People romanticize the past in general and the war in particular. The brave boys over seas, the dutiful, loyal girls back here. And you represent that. This larger than life icon. You can't possibly have the same flaws and sins as the rest of us. Add in the conservative narrative of 'the good old days' when there was never scandal or minorities or gays mucking things up and here you are. A puritan founded country that represses itself while being obsessed with sex."

"And yet they also make action movies about me that imply I was banging my way through the chorus girls on the USO show. Which, for what it's worth, I totally could have."

"Repression and obsession, my friend. Macho, manly violence that gets you tail is fine. I don't think they can wrap their heads around you having a nice, normal relationship with a nice, normal girl. Then you're just like the rest of us."

"In the retelling of my legend, Peggy always ended up demoted to a nurse or secretary I needed to rescue, or who sat around pining for me and. . . knitting or something. Something that more suited expectations. I'm afraid whatever box they're now going to paint Sharon into is going to worse."

Sam looked thoughtful a moment. "There is one option. If they're going to treat you like a public figure, you should act like one. Control the narrative."

"You're saying I should respond to them?"

"I'm saying do an interview. You pick the venue, you vet the questions. Maybe one of those ladies where you're in a fake living room with flowers and it's all soft focus like 90's Skinemax. End the speculation, assure everyone you're as boring and nice as you appear. And they'll move on to whatever the latest reality star had for breakfast."

"I don't do interviews. I'll do dog and pony shows, but I don't answer questions." Much to the consternation of the press, ever since he thawed out. Stark and Pepper talked to the press. Nat talked to the press. Thor charmingly answered endless questions about Asgard. The media was generally vague on what Bucky and Barton looked like, and just about nobody knew who Banner was—so the requests weren't very frequent. But Steve, he was like the interviewers Holy Grail. Sure, he'd put on the extra-spangly Captain America suit and do Avengers PR, but that was just a character. 

Sam shrugged easily. "Was just a suggestion. I think you being a mystery adds to the fevor, to be honest. Man behind the mask and all. The more they can speculate without being corrected the more they will."

He rubbed his eyes. "It's just not any of their business."

"Like it or not, you're famous. That means people think they have a claim on you. Whether you like it or not."

"And what the hell is '90's Skinemax?"

"Something you should definitely google."

Their food arrived. He could tell by the way the waitress was looking at him she recognized him, but thankfully didn't say anything. "The media will eventually tire of the topic," he said. "Sharon's family is probably a longer-term problem."

"Eh, there I'm less of a help." Sam dumped a little puddle of ketchup on his plate to dip his fries in. "Families are always tricky, man. And there's no getting around your. . . history."

He took a bite of his cheeseburger. "I know it's weird."

Sam chewed his sandwich a moment. "I gotta ask, man. It never comes up? You've never been doing anything with her and think 'hey - that's just how Peggy used to do it'? I don't even mean bedroom stuff. But just about every guy compares current girl to previous girl."

"Sometimes. Sometimes I even mention it. It takes a certain phrasing. It's less often than you think, they're different people. There also, technically, have been women in between." He paused. "It's not a train of thought I allow to get even R-rated, though. For everyone's sanity."

"Yeah, I can see that being an awkward end to an evening."

"I figured out if you take the generational aspect away, they'd be like first cousins. I can't decide if that makes it better or worse."

"I think if we were frat brothers I'd think you were a God for pulling that off." Sam grinned. "Probably doesn't help."

He paid attention to his food for a while. "I _know_ it's weird. The optics are terrible. I didn't mean for it to happen. I emailed her because she worked for the CIA and thought she might be able to help me with intel. We got to be friends, and then it just. . . happened."

"And I'm happy for you," Sam said, sounding serious for a moment. "You need as many people in your life that see you as Steve first and Cap second, if at all, as possible." He ran his fries through the ketchup. "Nobody gets to choose when we find the one, or who she is. As long as you got her and what you have is real, then you can get through anything."

"I love her. I don't want to lose her just because other people find it awkward."

"Sharon's not a quitter," Sam said. "It's obvious how good you two are together. Give her family some time to wrap their heads around it. You only met them at Christmas, right?"

"Yes. They were polite. Excessively polite. The kind that implies someone's got a voodoo doll somewhere."

Sam laughed. "I know most of your crew is lacking in the in-law department, but that sounds like every meet the parents dinner I ever had. No one likes meeting the guy they know - for a fact - is having sex with their daughter-slash-baby-sister. That fact you also knew their aunt in the biblical sense is probably secondary. Give 'em time. They'll figure out you're not using her to chase a ghost."

He looked up. "You think that's what they think?"

"Putting myself in that position. . . yeah, it's what I'd think."

"How would I ever convince them otherwise?"

Sam shrugged a little. "Time. Sharon being happy. That's not a sustainable relationship, it's a Hitchcock film. The longer you're together, the more obvious it'll be you're with her for her and not your past."

"I _am_."

His friend held up his hands in mock surrender. "I know that. I am trying to help you navigate the less enlightened among us."

"I thought Bucky might be weird about it, having actually known Peggy, but he acted like it was no big deal." 

"I get the feeling his weird-o-meter is pretty hard to ping at this point."

Steve laughed. "Yeah, I guess so."

"You'll figure it out, Steve. Just remember you're in it together."

Steve's phone beeped before he could answer it, and when he looked at it he found a text from Hill. _There's a thing._

 _Give me an hour,_ he texted back.

 _You have half, Barton's already in the air._ Another message followed. _Assuming you can tear yourself away from the Love Nest._

He sighed. "Duty calls."

Sam gave a little salute. "Don't let me stop you. I'll catch you later."

Thirty two minutes later, after a mad dash home to get his shield, the only part of his gear he didn't leave in the tower, and a text to Sharon, he climbed up the ramp of the their quinjet. "I don't want to hear a word about Love Nests," he called up to Barton.

"Neither do I, Rogers," he replied. "As it is all I've heard about for like three days now. Yesterday I was treated to a rant about the bottom-feeding nature of paparazzi while I was in the shower. And, if I stand in the right place by the wall between us and Barnes's apartment I can hear people being outraged on your behalf in stereo."

That actually made him laugh. "I miss you guys."


	15. Chapter 15

Steve and Sharon took the train up to New York the weekend of the baby shower, leaving Friday night. She had had their presents sent to the Tower, so they could just pack a couple of small carry on suitcases. They had dinner with Bucky and Amanda, who was now visibly pregnant and glowing in a way Sharon had thought was just a myth.

The shower was in Pepper and Stark's penthouse upstairs on Saturday morning. Sharon met Amanda and Natasha waiting for the elevator. 

"Hi," Amanda said. "Hang on, I actually have to run to the bathroom again."

"Use ours. Steve's. Whatever." Sharon wasn't entirely sure if she could lay claim on his Avengers apartment just because he lived with her in DC and she planned to live up here someday. But it was the closest door to the elevator.

"You doing okay?" Natasha asked as Amanda dashed off.

"You mean the Love Nest stuff?" Sharon shrugged. "I'm hanging in there. I'm more upset about my family's reaction than I am about the media."

"I don't get how anyone could not like Steve."

"Oh, they like the idea of Steve. Aunt Peggy's hypothetical pre-marriage lover shrouded in history. They don't like the reality of him dating me. They can't get over the weird."

"I'm probably a poor person to give family advice. Amanda might have something useful to say. She has a family she likes. So does Jane, mostly. Who may also get the 'most fucked up in-laws' prize."

"Thor's father called her a goat," Amanda said, stepping out of the apartment. "And Darcy and her boyfriend have all manner of in-law drama."

"Oh, yeah." Natasha hit the elevator button. "She tazed Cal's brother-in-law."

"I'm going to see her in a whole new light now," Sharon commented as they got into the elevator.

"We don't let wusses in the Wives Club," Amanda said.

Upstairs, the place was decorated much like a cupcake—pink frilly things everywhere. People were milling around, the members of the Wives club and a whole bunch of other women Sharon didn't really know—though she recognized some of Amanda's lab staff.

Amanda immediately went over to greet then. Sharon and Nat followed and introductions were made. "Please don't ask about the love nest," she said, hoping to head it off at the pass.

Pooja, a curvy Indian woman with a lovely smile, laughed as they shook hands. "We'll try to keep our curiosity under wraps."

Darcy came over to hug her. "Can we ask about it at the after-party?"

"There's an after-party?"

"Just the club," Nat confirmed. "For the traditional drinking and gossip."

"Well, if drinking will be involved."

"And hopefully less gross stuff than last time," Darcy said.

"Don't ask questions you don't want an answer to," Pepper called as she came towards them. The last party had involved a lot of discussion about childbirth. "Hello," she said. "Welcome to your baby shower."

Amanda hugged her. "Thank you. You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

She waved a hand. "Of course we did. Come, sit, browse the giant table of presents." Above them there was a distinct chiming noise, one Sharon had never heard before. Pepper sighed. "Baby's up. Hold that thought."

Sharon watched Pepper head back to the private area of the penthouse. Amanda and some of her techs milled about the present table and Sharon decided this was as good a time as any to her herself a drink.

There were mimosas on the buffet table, which seemed as good a place to start as any. 

*

"So. . . it doesn't actually fit?"

"No. I mean, mostly, but not entirely. So things can. . ." Stark made a motion with his hands. "Tear."

"I really do not need to hear this," Bucky said, going so far as to put his hands over his ears.

" _You_ don't need to hear it," Barton muttered, turning the instructions for the crib they were building around again. "Does anyone read Chinese?"

"Jane said the head fits," Thor insisted. "I didn't think that was possible."

"Sometimes they don't," Rhodey offered. "My wife had c-sections."

Steve reached over and took the instructions Barton was looking at. He didn't read Chinese, but he would learn, right now, if it gave him something else to pay attention to, other than the rest of them building a dresser and talking about Ruby's birth.

"They do stitch everything back together," Stark was saying.

Steve pulled out his phone and texted Sharon. _Help. Me._

Her reply was immediate. _You help me. I'm surrounded by women I barely know talking about male Stark employees I've never met and their relative hotness._

_I will trade. I will even render an opinion on the hotness of all the male Stark employees if you want. And long as this conversation does not involve the word episiotomy, I will be happy._

_I suppose announcing you have opinions on male hottness would change the subject. . ._

_I'm an artist. I have an opinion on all kinds of beauty._

"Hell if I know," Stark was saying, in response to some question Steve hadn't heard, and was probably glad he hadn't. "The factory is not yet open for business."

"I'm beginning to see why Amanda keeps talking about a scheduled c-section," Bucky muttered, ratcheting what look liked part of a leg.

_You're still the top of the chart, by the way._

_Did you tell them I'm no longer eligible?_

"You get used to it," Stark was saying. "The sex embargo."

Bucky snorted. "I doubt it. I'm having more sex than I've had in my life. She's like a horny teenager or something." They all turned to stare at him, even Steve and Barton. Bucky sighed, closing his eyes, as if he'd just realized that had been out loud. "And now she's going to kill me."

"Not if she needs you for sex," Barton said dryly.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Stark said. "There is a period of exhaustion and insanity right after birth that gets even horny teenagers."

"Plus huge boobs you can't touch," Rhodey added. "Unless you want to get squirted in the eye with milk."

"I wonder if the serum with help with the sleep deprivation," Bucky mused.

_There's a second chart now. For those who are taken. They seem to just like doing the math._

A minute later another text came through. _They're asking me for measurements. I'm on my second mimosa. I apologize for anything I let slip._

On the other side of the half built crib, he heard Barton mutter, "Oh, shit." Steve leaned over to see he was apparently also having a text conversation, he assumed with Natasha. "It's finally happened."

The others looked at him. Stark tried, "They're having a lesbian orgy and/or a mud fight?"

"They're breaking out the rulers."

Apparently, she hadn't been kidding.

"You people are so weird," Rhodey muttered.

"Are they - is it going on the chart?" Stark asked.

"Rulers for what?" Thor asked.

"Thor," Steve said, "Go get your mead."

*

"He's a very private person," Sharon said, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "It doesn't feel right sharing certain things."

"But we're really curious," Darcy argued, as if that made it okay.

"I'm not telling you Clint's either," Nat said. "Though I can tell you a wide variety of others."

"Is his the biggest?" Amanda asked, not looking up from the towel and wash cloth set she'd just opened.

"No," Nat said thoughtfully. "But he knows how to use it."

Sharon's phone beeped. _Asgardian moonshine acquired._

Right, she was getting a third mimosa, in that case.

The various nurses and techs had filtered out after the buffet had been plowed and a few games had been played. They were down to the core Wives Club members now, hence the graphic sex talk.  
 Pepper saw her heading for the OJ and shook her head. "If you want something stronger, help yourself."

Sharon eyed the bar. They did have good liquor. "It's two o'clock."

"Bring me a vodka tonic," Maria Hill said. "I've sat through a baby shower."

"They're getting drunk down there," Nat said. "You're going to have crooked baby furniture."

"He'll just rebuild it later," Amanda said, moving the last present off her lap and stretching her legs. "James will not stand for unstable furniture."

Sharon made two vodka tonics—it sounded good—and carried one over to Hill. "You think they'll start singing again? I saw the video from last time."

"Clint had orders to record it, if so," Nat assured her.

"Is Bruce with them?" Jane asked. "He's usually a calming influence."

"The baby stuff makes him a little sad," Pepper said. "He decided to spend the weekend at his cabin. Rhodey is down there, though. He has a lot of experience at keeping people out of trouble."

"Stark does have a lot of handlers, doesn't he?" Sharon asked.

"He's a full time job," Pepper said with affection. "I have to delegate or I'd never get anything done."

"And yet he won't let you get a nanny for your actual baby," Jane, who had said baby draped over her shoulder on a burp cloth. 

"Why not?" Sharon asked, a little horrified. She'd heard it was trendy for celebrities to brag about not having domestic help, but that was generally actresses who had the luxury of not working on a movie for a couple of years. Pepper ran a company. A large one.

Pepper seemed to feel less affectionate about this particular Stark-ism. "Because he was raised by a nanny, so he's being all him about it." She rubbed her forehead. "It's not sustainable. I'm exhausted, my EA is annoyed she keeps getting stuck with the baby, we have a bodyguard on payroll doing nothing because no one has time to take her outside. Now I hear Tony is bringing her down to the labs." 

"That seems unsafe," Darcy said.

Pepper's response was almost a growl. "It _is_."

"You know I'm a mandated reporter for child endangerment, right?" That was Amanda, who was eyeing Hill's drink sadly.

She rubbed her forehead. "Bruce has everything involving radiation or dangerous chemicals shut down half the time now. So we're also now paying expensive scientists to be idle, and irritating the shit out of the last person on earth any of us want to poke with a stick."

"Well, I suppose Bruce bringing the big guy out will force Stark to confront the problem," Nat offered.

"You need to find a loop hole," Sharon said, sucking on the lime slice she'd used to garnish her drink.

Pepper looked at her. "Loop hole?"

"Well, I don't know Stark, but I guessing even if he realized his 'no nanny' thing was a bad idea he wouldn't admit it." Pepper's expression confirmed the suspicion. "So you need to find him a loop hole to abuse. If there's one thing I remember from our files on the Starks it’s that they love a loophole."

"I'm going to agree with that," Nat said.

Pepper titled her head, considering. "I can work with that."

"Happy to help."

*

Steve had been drunk a few times in his life. Before the serum all it had taken was one beer too many after work and Bucky would all be carrying him home. Often with a black eye after starting a bar fight over some slight or another. He recalled it making him feel out of sorts and dizzy.

Asgardian mead didn't make him feel out of sorts or like starting fights. It made him feel warm and happy and relaxed, a little fuzzy around the edges. He didn't know if it was some reaction to the serum or if Asgardian mead was something more than just alcohol. He was just happy it worked.

Did still make him a little dizzy, though.

After the last of the furniture was built and the mead drunk he'd managed to stagger into his apartment and slump on the couch, head tipped back, so he could wallow in the pleasant buzz.

The door clicked open and Sharon stumbled inside, giggling. He was pretty sure he'd never heard her giggle before. She got about five uncoordinated steps inside before leaning on the wall to take her heels off. She'd lost the grey cardigan she'd been wearing, leaving her in a cream colored shell so thin he could see the lines of her bra.

When she got her second shoe off she looked up, saw Steve, and grinned. "Hi, baby."

"Hi, gorgeous." She really was gorgeous. "Have fun?"

"Yes, I did." She crossed the room to him and bent to brace her hand on the back of the couch. "But I think I'm a little drunk," she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

"I can see that." He reached up to pull her closer. "So am I, I think."

She braced her knees on the couch, making her demure grey skirt ride up her thighs, and sat on his lap. Her fingers ran through his hair. "You know," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I now have mathematical proof that you're the hottest guy I know."

"And I am all yours," he replied. He slid his hands under the hem of her skirt. The noise she made was almost a purr.

"Feels good," she murmured, trailing a line of kisses along his jaw to suck his earlobe into her mouth.

"You remember the night I was at the strip club and we were drunk texting?"

"Mmmhmm."

His hands moved up her thighs, over her rear, up her back. "I wanted you here. I wanted to come home to you."

She groaned into his skin, rocking her hips so she was pressed more firmly on his lap. "I wanted that, too," she whispered. "So much. When I went to bed that night I thought about you." She lifted her head and caught his mouth in a hot, hungry kiss.

Her skirt was in his way. He didn't know what possessed him, but he gripped the fabric in two hands and ripped. It tore clean in half, all the way up to her waist. He froze, a little surprised he'd done that.

Sharon lifted her head and blinked at the strip of fabric in his hand. When she turned back to him her eyes were dark. She leaned in and whispered, "Do it again," against his mouth before returning to kissing him.

He reached up to touch her shell, gathering the fabric in his hands. "This is silk."

"I don't care, I have others." She sat up a little, clutching a fistful of his shirt in her hand. "Do it again." He nodded, and ripped the shell, too, until it hung in pieces from her shoulders.

She shivered and he saw goosebumps raise on her arms. Rocking against him again, she said, "That was really hot."

Even he found it so. He probably shouldn't, but he was too drunk to care. He tugged the fabric pieces away. Her bra didn't look like one of her fancy ones, so he ripped it in half, too. Sharon let out a shuddery breath, ending with a little moan. Her nipples were already taut, dark with arousal. She yanked at his shirt and he lifted his arms so she could pull it off before flattening a hand on her back and dragging her closer and sucking one tight peak into his mouth. He felt her thighs clench against his hips and she dug a hand in his hair to hold him to her. He moved his hands down her back, until he encountered her panties, the last bit of clothing she had on. He ripped them off just like everything else.

He let his hands roam her, down her thighs, then back up to cup her ass, squeezing and tugging her core more firmly against him. He could feel how wet she was even through the fabric of his jeans. He wanted them off, and very quickly realized he'd need to stand, even if he was going to rip them. So he held her tighter and stood with her in his arms, not wanting to let her go for that long.

As if sensing his intent, she hitched herself higher, wrapping her legs around his waist and holding his shoulders. Sometimes he forgot how strong she was. She held herself up easily as he rid himself of his pants.

He ripped them enough they probably weren't salvageable, but they were off. He started them towards the bedroom, forgetting about the coffee table until he bumped into it with his shins. He kicked it out of the way with a little too much force, and they were serenaded with the sound of breaking wood and glass.

Sharon laughed and he felt her tighten her legs on him as he started for the bedroom again. She dropped kisses on his face, throat and shoulder, arching against him to reach more skin. It was distracting enough he almost lost his balance - surely it couldn't possibly have been the drinking - and he paused to pin her against the wall. She took the opportunity to cup his face and kiss him properly.

He groaned, and murmured, "I want you," into her mouth.

Her legs tightened and she rocked on him. "Yes. Please." He pulled her off the wall and stumbled towards the bedroom, he heard something crash as he kicked the door open. He leaned to drop her on the bed and realized at the last minute that his aim was seriously off. They clipped the side of the bed and he rolled them, landing on the floor on his back with a thump. 

Sharon was laughing as she sprawled on top of him. He tugged on her hair and brought her down for a deep, messy kiss. "Hush."

When he let her up to breathe she lifted her head. "You like when I make noise," she teased. She sat up, shifting so his shaft slid through her folds but didn't quite enter her.

He groaned. "I don't like it when you torment me."

She rocked her hips slowly. "Yes, you do."

"Okay. Yes. I do." He tightened his grip on her, fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs.

She rocked again, and again. He was contemplating rolling them over and taking control when she lifted up on her knees and used one hand to position him at her entrance. She caught his gaze and slowly started to slide down his length. Her hands stroked her breasts and stomach. He could see the muscles in her abdomen tighten as she used them to slow her descent.

It was nearly torture, but he found himself unable to do anything but watch her move, watch her slowly take him inside her. "Sharon. Please."

Her hands moved to him, running over the sweat slick skin. "What do you need, baby?" she asked softly.

He ran his hands up over her ass. " _Move._ "

For a moment, he thought she might push him farther and he honestly didn't know what he'd do. But then she slid down in one swift, rough motion, taking him to the hilt. Her head snapped back and she gasped. Then she started to move properly, if still too slowly for his taste. He could see her getting lost in her pleasure, so he didn't rush her. Instead he grit his teeth and watched. wanting to memorize her so he could draw her like this.

One of her hands drifted to where they joined, fingers stroking her clit. He could have helped, but was too mesmerized by the sight to react. The extra stimulation seemed to be all she needed, because he felt her body start to clench around him. She let out a cry that was as surprised as it was pleased. Her rhythm faltered, then stopped entirely as she buried him deep, shaking as she came.

After a moment, he pulled her down against his chest and flipped them over. She gasped as he pinned her arms over her head, and thrust hard. She slid a little on the wood floor. She wrapped her legs around him, arching into his thrusts. It was rough and intense. He remembered their first day together he'd thought he was addicted to her, to this. He felt the same now. Like he couldn't get enough of her, couldn't get deep enough.

Her wrists twisted in his hands and he pressed into her harder. She gasped. "Steve. Steve. I'm - I'm close. I think. Oh God."

He sucked on her lower lip, not changing the pace. "That's it, honey."

She whimpered helplessly. "Steve, Steve. God. Yes, yes." He could feel her growing tighter and her motions had grown jerky. It took a few more thrusts and then she screamed, back arching, pressing her against him. Her body pulsed around him, harder than before, milking him. 

He let go then. Maybe it was her, maybe it was the buzz, but the whole room seemed spin and blur.

When he came back to himself she was limp beneath him, breathing hard, but otherwise immobile. He could feel her still throbbing around him. He still had his hands wrapped around her wrists, pinning her to the hard wood floor. 

He released her wrists. They were red. "You okay?" he asked.

"Mmm." She moved her arms slowly, stiffly, then draped them around his neck. "I'm wonderful," she mumbled. He rolled off her and sat up without letting her go. He was less coordinated than he'd like, especially now that his limbs were jelly, but he managed to get them onto the bed. 

"I see why people are fond of drunk sex," he murmured.

"I'm gonna ask Thor for a bottle of that stuff to take home with us." She tugged the covers up, cuddling against his side. "That was amazing."

"Yeah. It was." He closed his eyes. "Is the bed spinning?"

"No. We're just drunk."

"Okay," he said. Even the bed spinning wasn't so bad. "Have I told you I love you?"

"I love you, too, Steve." She pressed a little kiss to his shoulder.

"No, but I _really_ do. And you're really good in bed."

She giggled and kissed his throat. "So are you. I honestly think you're the best lover I've ever had."

"And we can live forever in our Love Nest," he told her. "That would be fine by me."

"Okay," she mumbled sleepily. "Sounds like a plan."


	16. Chapter 16

Sharon was actually used to waking up a little sore. Steve was a big guy and his rebound time often meant multiple rounds. The pain she woke up to the morning after the baby shower was not that kind of sore. This was “ten rounds with a new sparring partner who put you on the mat a lot” sore. This was ice packs and heating pads sore.

 She groaned, trying to roll over and climb out of bed. The motion caused something in her back to lock up and she hissed air through her teeth. On her second try, she managed to get out of bed and walk stiffly into the bathroom in search of pain killers.

Her wrists and forearms sported impressive purple bruises, blended together into bands. Similar bruises marked her hips and thighs, though these were pretty clearly hand and fingerprints. Wincing, she turned to check out her back in the mirror to find it also bruised, though less impressively, and scraped up from some rough spot on the floor. And that didn't count the hangover headache settling in behind her eyes.

A check of the medicine cabinet revealed there was no painkillers or anti-inflammatory. Because why would there be? This was Steve's apartment. She sighed and leaned on the sink. "Hey, Steve?" she called. "Who would you be least embarrassed to go ask for Motrin?"

He got up and came into the bathroom, and got a look at her. "Oh. . . wow." He made a wincing face. "I'm sorry."

During one of the more R rated conversations the day before Amanda and Jane had both warned her that A) she would get bruised during sex one day and B) when that day happened she should not make a big deal out of it or she would never get intense sex again. So even though she hurt from the knees up she smiled and said, "At least I enjoyed getting them."

"I should carpet my floor," he commented. Then he came further in the bathroom and gave her a very gentle kiss. "Let me put some clothes on and I'll go find you some painkillers and ice."

"Thank you, baby. I'm going back to bed until those arrive."

He watched her make her way slowly out of the bathroom. "Anything might be actually injured and need Doc?" He pulled the covers back for her. "Don't say no out of embarrassment, she's used to it."

She eased back into bed, doing an inventory. The legs and back were mostly superficial, her wrists were the worst. She rolled them both this way and that, flexing and stretching them. "Nothing's broken," she said, fairly confident of that. "The left one might be sprained. I remember it bending a little oddly when I came." The hazy, alcohol dimmed memory of that made her smile as she resettled in bed.

"I'll find an ace bandage. I'd apologize again, but you don't seem too regretful."

"It was really good," she told him. "I know you hold back so you don't hurt me. It's worth some bruises to know you let go with me."

He touched one of the bruises on her wrist. "I'm never done that before."

She turned her hand gingerly to touch him. "Bruised your partner?"

"Not held back. I've bruised others, I've left marks on you. Little things. But this was actually. . . I wasn't paying attention. It was liberating, if now a little guilt inducing."

It took effort, but she sat back up to kiss him, pleased when he returned it. "I'd like it if it happened again," she said softly, watching him. 

He nodded. "Maybe we'll put some workout mats down first."

She grinned. "Keep talking like this and the endorphins will take care of the pain for me."

"You'll be sorrier later." He stood up. "I'll be back."

He was, maybe ten minutes later, Amanda in tow. Sharon made a face. "Really?"

Steve held up his hands in defense. "She insisted."

Amanda came over to the side of the bed and lifted one of Sharon's hands. "I've known enough SHIELD people to know that 'it might be sprained' is just as likely to mean it's about to fall off as actually sprained."

"I'm a fan of getting prompt medical care so minor ligament damage doesn't turn into something that requires surgical repair through sheer neglect." Amanda arched a brow and Sharon sighed, obediently holding out both arms for inspection. Amanda insisted on checking her back, as well. "Rate your pain."

Aware Steve was still hanging out at the end of the bed, she held up five fingers where he couldn't see them. She really was sore.

Amanda cleaned and bandaged her back and Sharon rolled over. "I do think the left one is sprained. I'm going to wrap it and give you a bottle of Tylenol-3. You're gonna feel worse before it's better."

"You want me to go get some ice?" Steve asked. Now he sounded like he felt guilty.

"I'm not seeing a lot of swelling, but it won't hurt." The doctor turned and looked back at him. "Don't beat yourself up."

"I'll go get some ice," he replied, and went out to the kitchen.

"He was over enthusiastic," Sharon offered. "We were a little drunk."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me." Amanda rummaged in her bag and pulled out an ACE bandage. "I'm always bruised. Seriously, always." She tugged the hem of her sweatshirt up to show Sharon a fading bruise on her hip. "Took me ages to convince him it didn't make him a bad person."

"Steve seems okay. I think. At least he was before."

"He likely doesn't have as many. . . issues with his strength as James does with his arm." She started winding the bandage around Sharon's wrist. "When do you go back to DC?"

"We were supposed to go back by train today."

"I would suggest waiting at least another day," she said as Steve returned with ice. "Or borrowing a car instead of the train so you'll be more comfortable."

"I'm torn between being horrified and being proud," he commented.

"If you settle on proud, please brag to James so he has someone to commiserate with." Amanda finished her wrapping, tucking the ice in the folds, and dug out a pill bottle. "This is a couple days worth of the Tylenol-3. Let me know before you leave and I'll get you more."

"Thank you, Amanda."

On her way out she patted Steve on the arm. "Thor and Jane would be proud of your living room," she said, causing Steve's cheeks to flush.

Sharon waited till she heard the front door open and close before saying, "We broke things, didn't we?"

"The coffee table, two lamps, several picture frames, and part of a bookshelf. Plus the floor is scattered with shredded clothing."

Oh, she remembered the clothing. Her skin heated at the memory of him tearing her skirt in half. There was probably some caveman, lizard brain reason she found that so arousing. "I think I'm going to start wearing a lot of cheap clothes when we're home." Someone last night had mentioned doing that. She'd been drunk enough she couldn't remember who. Just something about buying cheap lingerie to be destroyed. There might have been knives involved. The Avenger ladies were an odd bunch, but she liked the company of similar experiences. 

"I think I approve of that," he said. He'd ripped her tank top that first weekend. He'd also broken her door and dented a piece of her drywall. They'd been too consumed with each other to pay attention.

She supposed, as far as kinks went, ripped clothes and sex bruises weren't so bad. Hell, if she felt any better she might be trying to get a morning round out of him. As it was, she felt like she could just go right back to sleep. "We should look into the exercise mats," she told him, letting her eyes close. "I don't want this to be a one time thing."

"I have a spare bedroom," he told her, tucking her in. "We could pad the whole thing. Claim it's a workout room."

She smiled. "Have a sex room in our love nest?"

"Technically our love nest is in DC, the sex room would be here." He kissed her forehead. "Take a nap. I'll make you breakfast."

"Okay," she mumbled. "Love you." It seemed important to add that, for some reason.

"I love you, too," he replied. She felt him press another little kiss to her forehead as she drifted off.

She took a sick day on Monday so they could stay an extra day in New York, since she was feeling a bit beat up. Steve fussed over her, which she enjoyed, but did not devolve into self flagellation. He was a little embarrassed that the banging and crashing had been noticed by others on the floor, but that seemed more about his sense of privacy than a sense of shame.

By the time she went back to work most of the stiffness was gone. The few close friends who noticed she was working a little slower accepted her "over did it at the gym" excuse without batting an eye. She wore long sleeves and suit jackets and felt a little bit like she was getting away with something naughty.

Thursday afternoon, Steve texted her to tell her he was going on a mission. Not feeling like spending the whole night alone, she shot her brother, Pat, a message seeing if he wanted to catch dinner. She had started reopening lines of communication with her family, but hadn't actually seen any of them since Christmas. His enthusiastic agreement indicated they were ready to mend fences.

They met at an Ethiopian restaurant in the city. It was the sort of place you ate with your hands and/or your bread. Which meant she had to roll up her sleeves. It was all right, though. Pat would probably think it was funny, if he noticed.

"What happened to your wrists?"

The bruises had faded from dark purple to mottled yellows and browns with spots of red. She shook her head. "Oh, nothing serious. Steve got a little. . . over enthusiastic in bed the other day." There was no reason her her brother to know it had actually been the floor. She had limits.

He reached out to take her hand to pull her arm closer. "He did this to you?"

"Accidentally," she felt the need to reiterate. "And fussed for two days afterwards."

He insisted on looking at her other wrist, too. "Sharon."

"Don't 'Sharon' me, Patrick." She tugged her arm out of his hand. "They're sex bruises. You mean to tell me you've never left any? I've seen the little things you date."

"Amazingly, I have managed not to seriously injure any of my girlfriends. Bruises like that take force."

"You might have heard he's rather strong," she said dryly. She fought the instinct to hide her hands under the table and very deliberately reached for her glass of water. "Are you about you accuse him of being abusive? Because that will seriously piss me off, Pat."

"Well, what am I supposed to think? He'd not from the most evolved generation."

"Oh, my God." She covered her eyes briefly. "He's not hitting me. He can rip sheet metal. If he hit me in anger I wouldn't be sitting here."

"That's. . . disconcerting."

Yeah, that probably hadn't helped. "I love him. I trust him. He's generally very careful with him because he _knows_ how strong he is. This-" she added, gesturing her wrists again. "Was a momentary lapse when he let himself relax. And I'm glad of it, because he shouldn't have to hold himself in check with me all the time. And I really don't appreciate you assuming the worst of him."

He sighed. "I know you can handle yourself. You could probably take three of me in a fight. I've never had to worry about your safety. And now you've managed to find someone who can hurt you. I'm not nuts that that makes me a little nervous."

That was so big brother of him, it melted a little of her ire. "You need to trust my judgement, Pat. He's a good man and he adores me."

"And you're sure it's got nothing to do with Aunt Peggy?"

Oh, God, not this again. " _Yes_. We're two different people. We don't even look alike."

"It's not always about appearance."

She sighed, feeling oddly defeated. "Right. Fine. Yes, we're similar people. Yes, I do, on occasion, remind him of her. But no more than anyone else who dates the same kind of person. This idea that you all have that he's dating me because he can't have her, or to replace her is insulting. It's insulting to me and to him and to Aunt Peggy. He loved her, he mourned her and now he's with me." She wiped her hands off on her napkin before tossing it on the table and standing. "And I've lost my appetite."

"I'm sorry," he said. "Don't go. This whole thing with the press just makes everything. . . hard to ignore."

She hesitated a moment, then sank back into her seat. "You can't ignore it. He's my boyfriend. I live with him. He's going to come to family dinners and holidays."

"I meant ignoring all the stuff surrounding him. The history, the public attention. The Avengers. He does seem like a nice guy. If he were a regular dude the family would probably be very enthusiastic."

"I know. I know it's weird. I'm sorry it's brought all this media attention and everything. But I feel like everyone in the family is so busy being uncomfortable and offended that none of you care how i feel. I'm the one getting pictures taken of her. I'm the one who has to wait when he's on a mission and hope he comes back safe." She bit her tongue to keep from mentioning the coma. "You and Mom and Aunt Lilly and whoever else is offended this week are not suffering more than me."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I mean it." He paused. "You should feel a little bad for Matt and Lisa, apparently those kids have _still_ not shut up about how Aunt Sharon brought Captain America to Christmas."

That, at least, made her smile. "If they asks nicely I can probably convince him to wear the outfit to the next birthday party."

"It must be hard," he said after a moment. "That's a very dangerous job. And if history is to be believed, he's got some self-sacrificial instincts."

"I think those are a little better than they were." She was not digging into Steve's demons with her judgmental brother. But she did want to reassure him. "It helps he has people he loves to come back to."

"Does he make you happy?"

To her surprise, her throat tightened up a little. "Very much," she said softly.

"Well then. Mom will come around, she's not a Carter, she didn't grow up with the mythos. Personally I think Dad is only slightly less excited than Matt's kids, he's just afraid of the women. Aunt Lilly. . ." He looked up at her. "No, I can't help you there. I don't think anyone can."

"I guess if I get the majority of you won over I can deal with her." She took a sip of water. "Maybe if Steve talked to her."

"Seems a lot to ask of him. She's been pretty wound up. And she _does_ look like Aunt Peggy."

That was very, very true. "I know. I'm just tired of the phone calls." She paused, then said, softer, "I'm pretty sure Aunt Peggy would be embarrassed by how she's been treating me. She was not one for idealizing the past."

"She's calling you? Why?"

"To yell at me about what the press is saying. She said implying that Steve and Peggy were lovers is disrespectful to Peggy's memory and to Uncle Daniel's. When I pointed out that Peggy had never denied they were lovers and this all happened long before she met Daniel she got defensive, then _offensive_. You guys think he's dating me to replicate Peggy. She seems to think I'm dating him because I'm a fan girl or something."

"If I were a straight woman, I'd be a fangirl."

"I bet the internet has those Captain America show girl costumes in your size." She laughed and dodged the piece of bread he threw at her. "They say not to meet your heroes, but he really is everything they say about him. Better." She blew out a breath. "I feel really lucky, Pat. Lucky to have him. It's hard to have the world judging me for it."

"Some of that you may be stuck with. The larger world's judgement, anyway. He is a celebrity. He's like second most famous of them. You do have a particularly interesting angle, but I think the media was going to go all vulture on anyone in your shoes. Downsides to dating a superhero." 

She supposed that was why none of them really dated outside their little circle. Pepper was almost as famous as Tony. Jane and Thor were adorable and charming and occasionally had magazine articles written about them. Barton and Natasha kept to themselves. And if Amanda's formula worked for others the way it had for Steve, she might end up being more famous than Bucky. The next Jonas Salk. She was the only one to go from anonymity to fame overnight. And because Steve hated press and interviews, he had a vague, unattainable reputation to him. Which made him all the more interesting.

There wasn't an end to it, not really. Every time the Avengers were in the news, she would be, too. 

She gave her brother a sad smile. "I guess I'm lucky he's worth it."

The rest of the meal was far less emotionally fraught. She and Pat hugged long and hard in front of the restaurant before parting ways. Her phone buzzed just as she got on the Metro; Steve telling her he was fine and on his way home. Worry she hadn't known she was carrying unclenched, loosening her shoulders.


	17. Chapter 17

At home, she petted Barnabas for a while, attempting to wait up for him. She climbed in bed at midnight and tried to read but found herself waking to the sound of the shower turning off. He'd apparently turned off her light and taken the book out of her hands before going to wash up.

She listened to the sounds of him drying off and the soft creak of the bathroom door, then rolled to greet him as he climbed in bed with her. "Got all your pieces?" she mumbled sleepily.

He reached out to brush her hair off her face. "I do. And you'll be happy to know Love Nest jokes kept my team entertained the whole trip."

His skin was warm and damp from his shower and she curled close, sliding her arms around him. She was too tired to start anything, but right now she really wanted to feel him next to her skin. "I had dinner with my brother, Pat. Hashed out a few things."

"Good ending or bad?"

"Good, though it didn't start out that way. He saw my wrists. But I think I got through to him that you make me happy. He may be a good advocate for us to the rest of the family."

He sighed. "In the future, it might be good if I make an effort not to bruise you where people can see."

"Or for me to avoid seeing family when you do."

"My friends found it hilarious."

His tone indicated there had been a lot of teasing. "I know a lot about your friends’ sex lives. I'm pretty sure bruised wrists are tame."

"Speaking of them, would you be up for coming along on a secret mission?"

Her brows went up and she shifted back to look at his face in the darkness. "What kind?"

"An elopement." He paused. "Not ours. I would propose with more style."'

The word has caused a flicker of something like panic, but positive. Excitement? Anticipation? She'd need to unpack that later. "Who's getting married?"

"Barton and Natasha. Apparently they really want to do it in a casino for some reason or other."

Sharon laughed. "I'm more stupefied at them getting married."

"Time marches on, I suppose. Anyway, they really want to keep it under wraps, so we're making a black-ops mission out of it."

"That seems oddly fitting." She kissed him. "I've always wanted to go on a mission with you."

"Don't say that in front of Hill, she really wants to hire you."

Huh, she'd never considered that. She'd figured she'd missed her chance to work for Stark. "Would that be weird for you?"

"Honestly? Probably. Depends what you do, I suppose."

Well, so much for that. "My supervisor thinks some head count will be opening up in some of the satellite offices in the next couple months. Maybe we'll luck out and New York will have something."

"I have operational command of all agents Hill fields to join us on larger missions. It could lead to complications."

"I suppose I would find your Captain voice too distracting to be of any actual use."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to order you to do something dangerous," he said quietly. "Which could get someone killed."

She was torn between being annoyed and touched. She knew - she _knew_ \- it had nothing to do with her capabilities. Too many years of quiet, institutional sexism was hard to fight. She worried when he was doing something dangerous. She'd be out of her mind if it was something she'd _ordered_ him to it.

Shifting a little, she kissed his mouth. "I understand. Besides, someone in your group of friends should work for someone other than Stark."

"It's true. You never know when there might be layoffs. We'd still have an income to live on."

"Long term planning is important," she said seriously.

He kissed her temple. "I love you."

She cuddled close, inhaling his scent. "I love you, too."

*

Steve was very sure that he never wanted Sharon to go on a mission with him as a subordinate. There was no way he'd be objective about her duties and he'd get someone killed. He knew that, as sure as he knew anything else. He'd lost too many people he loved to missions gone wrong to risk it.

That did not stop him from thinking she looked _really good_ in her tac gear. It helped that she went by Natasha rules and it showed far more cleavage than most. The others had picked them up in a quinjet late Friday evening for their "mission in Vegas." Everyone else was more or less suited up for appearances sake, even Amanda who now looked _very_ pregnant. Where had they even found gear to fit over the belly, he didn't know.

"I don't think we were followed," Steve said as they lifted off. "Which is a feat, these days."

"Man, I brought my rifle and everything," Bucky said.

"Hey," Barton called from the pilot's seat. "It's my wedding, if anyone gets to shoot a photographer, it's me."

"I concede the point. I'd even let you use my rifle."

"Most men bond about sports," Amanda muttered, rubbing her stomach idly.

"Target shooting is in the Olympics," Sharon offered.

"The bachelor party involved shooting, too," Stark said, complaint in his voice. "Just the two of them."

"Everyone was invited," Bucky said mildly.

"Not everyone finds laying on a hilltop for three days aiming at something they can't see a fun time."

"Just because you can't shoot a real gun. . ."

Sharon looked over at Nat. "Was there a bachelorette party?"

"Darcy is trying to get us to go to male strippers," the redhead replied.

"It's called Thunder from Down Under and it's awesome!"

Steve turned to see Darcy Lewis sitting on the other side of Jane. "I did not know you were here."

"I'm slick like that," she replied. She pointed to the other side of her where the guy who did their tech support sat. He'd been to Thanksgiving, apparently they were a thing. "Cal is also here. I don't think he really believes he's on this trip yet."

"Hey," Steve said. He looked over at Sharon. "See, there are normal people here."

She leaned over and waved. "Hi."

"I used to be normal," Amanda said, then winced and looked at Bucky. "Your daughter doesn't like planes."

He put his hand on her stomach and rubbed. "Settle."

After a moment Amanda blew out a breath. "Seriously, how do you do that?"

Bucky grinned widely. Stark said something about babies being able to hear lower registers of voice better, which somehow turned into JARVIS measuring the pitch of everyone's voice in order to rank them. Anyone with ears could tell Thor was going to win that unless the Hulk came out, which wasn't the best idea in a rather small plane. But they liked their competition. Steve rested his head against his seat back and watched his friends. It had been a crappy couple of weeks. This trip—with all his friends and away from the stalking cameras—was really something he was looking forward to. 

They landed on top of one of the hotels, the Excalibur, because apparently it had a registered heliport they could park the jet on. Pepper and Darcy stood at the gangplank and handed out room assignments and itineraries.

"This is the most organized elopement in history," Nat said as they all gathered up their bags.

Barton leaned over to kiss her forehead. "You're the one who got Pepper involved." 

"It was mostly Darcy, actually."

"I like planning," she said, waving an itinerary at them. "Pepper likes paying for things. Which is why we're all on the suites floor. Ladies are meeting for bachelorette stuff at eight. Boys are meeting in Stark's suite for optional boy stuff."

"Who gets the baby?" Steve asked idly. Ruby was currently in a carrier strapped to Stark's chest. The carrier had a decal of an arc reactor on the back, because that was his sense of humor.

"We're flipping for it," Stark replied.

"You know, if we had a nanny. . ." Pepper started.

"You don't get to trot out the nanny thing every time."

"I'm just saying."

Steve decided it was a good time to go find their room.

The suite was far fancier than anything he'd ever rent, but that was travel with Stark. They had the whole floor to themselves, in the interest of privacy. He watched Sharon case the room like she did with any new space. Natasha always did, too. A quirk of spies, he supposed. Her serious inspection dissolved into something like a squeal when she went into the bathroom. "You should see this tub," she called.

He got up to follow her. "We could stay in," he said from the doorway.

She was actually sitting in the dry tub, still in her gear. She grinned at his suggestion. "I suppose you are hotter than any stripper would be."

He leaned over to kiss her. "We could put water in this tub, even."

"What are your thoughts on room service?" she asked, going up on her knees to kiss him again.

He sat on the edge of the tub and murmured, "Later," against her mouth. She slid her arms around him and he lifted her easily out of the tub, setting her next to him on the edge. Breaking the kiss, she leaned over and closed the plug before turning on the water. He peeled the zipper on the front of her uniform down. "You should wear this more often."

The fabric gaped to reveal bare skin and a flimsy, sheer bra. Well, he supposed she had known she wouldn't be wearing it long.

"Only if you wear yours," she said, then covered her mouth like she was embarrassed.

He leaned back a little. "This one or the other one?" He had two, one reminiscent of his SHIELD uniform, black and gray and muted shades, for more covert ops, like this one. The other, which was for public appearances and any mission they wanted to make a statement, was still in all its patriotic glory.

Her face was bright red but she said, "The other one," before covering her eyes. "I'm sorry. That's weird. I try so hard not to make things weird. Forget I said it."

He felt such an intense swell of affection right then. He really did love her. He reached up and pulled her hands down. "It's not weird."

She didn't look like she believed him. "I know how you feel about being 'Captain America.' And I try not to bring up anything from your past. I don't want to remind you. . ." She didn't need to say the rest, he supposed. He wondered how often she stopped herself from saying or suggesting things because she knew or at least feared it would make him think of Peggy.

"I don't mind. You don't need to swallow things you want to say because you're worried about that. If it makes you happy, it makes me happy." He paused. "And this _particular_ thing is apparently pretty normal. You should ask the women about it."

"I know about Jane and the cape." He arched a brow. "Seriously, there was a _a lot_ of drinking at the baby shower." She lifted a hand and trailed her fingertip over the star on his chest. "I'd like to spar sometime. Not even as a sex thing, though I guess that might be inevitable. But you have some moves I'd like to learn and there's probably some things I could teach you."

Funny, that did remind him of Peggy. And it wasn't at all weird. They were two entirely different compartments of his life. Literally two different lifetimes. And, he was coming to realize, he was probably two different people. This him belonged to Sharon. "I was serious about padding my spare room."

Her eyes lit up and she curled her fingers into the neckline of his uniform, pulling him closer to kiss him. "Good," she murmured against his mouth.


	18. Chapter 18

Sharon hadn't known how much the self censoring she'd been doing around Steve bothered her until he gave her permission to stop. It wasn't a regular thing, it didn't haunt every conversation she tried to have with him. But it was often in the back of her head and it had caused her to not mention things like the sparring or her love of his old fashioned uniform. Mostly she tried not to think about it, telling herself everyone made sacrifices for their partner.

And now he'd given her absolution. Permission to tread those land mines all she wanted. It was like a weight was off her shoulders. When she kissed him she swore she felt a similar ease in him.

His hand went back to the tab of her zipper, sliding it down past her waist before tugging the high-tech fabric down her arms. She was forced to let him go so he could get it down. He kissed her collarbone, her shoulder, and tugged the strap of her bra down. "Did you dress like this when on field missions?"

Laughing, she shook her head. "No. I wore a good sports bra and a t-shirt." She curled and arm around his shoulders, pressing a kiss into his hair. "But I figured on this particular instance I could fudge it."

"I'm going to pretend this is typical. So I can picture you wrestling bad guys while wearing skimpy lingerie." He got the rest of her suit down over her hips, and she wiggled to get it to the floor. The underwear was slightly more substantial than the bra, but not by much.

They stood there a moment, him still in his armor and her in her flimsy underwear. She liked the brighter uniform for rather nostalgic reasons, but this, this was a pretty good fantasy right here. This was how he'd come to her that first day. All that was missing was the shield.

Stretching up on her toes, she caught hold of the straps on his shoulders and kissed him, pressing against the rough material of his uniform.

"This is better than any show in Vegas," he told her. He did have a way of making her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

"I agree completely." The tub was now mostly full and steaming. She released him reluctantly and turned the taps off, running her fingers through the water to test the temperature. Glancing up to make sure he was watching, she slid her underwear down and stepped into the deep tub, leaving her bra on. When she sat, the water promptly soaked it, turning the already sheer material transparent. His eyes followed her, the heat in his gaze intense. She almost felt it like a touch.

The tub had jets, which was why she hadn't dumped a bottle of soap in. She found the button and turned them on, shifting so they hit the muscles in her lower back. Groaning, she tipped her head back, deliberately arching. He sat on the edge of the tub, watching her in that intense way he had. Studying her. Memorizing every curve and angle, like he hadn't already done so. She had a feeling she was going to flip past this image in his Sketchbook No One Sees in a week or two.

He was still fully dressed, which, while sexy, his outfit didn't really mix well with water. She meant to tease him about sex not being a spectator sport. But what came out was, "Did you want a show?" She could see him swallow, and then he nodded.

Her breath came out in a rush. She hadn't actually expected. . . But there he was, sitting on the edge of the tub, watching her every move. She was pretty sure she'd had fantasies like this, too. 

She sat up a little, reaching behind herself to unhook and peel her wet bra off. She let it float away, cupping her breasts with both hands, holding them up out of the water. She stroked and shaped them, taking her time, before reaching the nipples. Those she pinched and rolled, tugging them. With the wet heat of the bath she could almost pretend it was twin mouths sucking on her. The sensation shot through her, jolting straight to her clit, making it throb. She couldn't help the little moan that escaped her.

"More," he ordered, his voice nearly a growl. 

The tone sent heat through her, drawing a little whimper out of her. She released her breasts and slid her hand down her body. Over her flat stomach, parting to slide over her thighs, spreading them wide. She watched him watch her, that muscle in his jaw twitching as she drew her hands back up, stroking her fingers over the folds of her sex.

The jet pounding into her back gave her an idea. She shifted onto her knees, legs still spread. Moving closer to the opposite wall - and him - she lined herself up so the jet of water flowed over her clit. The sensation was intense, but not quite enough to get her off. She let it build up a moment, make her sensitive, then she touched her clit with two fingers.

That first touch sent fire through her. She flailed with her other hand, gripping the edge of the tub to keep from going under. She stroked herself in rapid circles, a counterpoint to the jet of water. Heat built in her, a slow, steady ache that grew and tightened until her legs were trembling and she was panting.   
 She opened her eyes to find him still watching her, having not moved a muscle. Close, she was so close, right on the edge, but something held her back. She swallowed. "Steve?"

His movements were a little jerky as he leaned over like he'd kiss her—but stopped a millimeter away to whisper, "Go ahead."

Pressing harder, she changed the pattern of her strokes ever so slightly, arching into the moving water. And just like that, the dam burst, orgasm rushing through her. Her eyes slammed shut and she whispered, "Fuck, oh God," as her body clenched. She curled forward, riding it out, shaking all over. Blood roared in her ears and she saw stars. It got too be too much and she had the presence of mind to fumble behind her for the jet control, shutting them off as she slumped against the edge of the tub.

He kissed her, and then left her to rest her forehead on the white surface. She heard him mutter, "Well, I hate this suit," as pieces of it thunked against the floor where they were dropped.

She turned her head just enough to watch him shed the pants, erection springing free of the sewn-in cup. The look of relief on his face was almost comical. That had to be uncomfortable.

The water in the tub sloshed dangerously as he climbed in and she tried to gather up the strength to slide over to him but none of her limbs felt like cooperating just yet. He leaned back against the other side of the tub. "Take your time, the water feels good."

She took a moment to just drink him in. She saw him every day but sometimes she still couldn't get over how utterly devastating he was. "Did you enjoy your show?" she asked him, lust starting to wake up her muscles.

"I think that may have been the hottest thing I've ever seen," he replied.

Grinning, she slid through the water and kissed him. "Good." She turned and settled in his lap, back to his chest. The tub was raised on a slight dais, so when she looked forward she could see them clearly in the mirrored wall behind the sinks. She shifted, reaching beneath the water to find his cock and settled it against her swollen folds. "Now I can watch, too."

His arms came around her, and his big hands covered her breasts. She could see the appeal of watching, all right. He kissed her shoulder, and then a path to the back of her neck. "You are the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Slowly, she started to slide down his length, rocking a little. She was still sensitive and the gentle stretch of him entering her felt intoxicatingly good. He let her set the pace, hands massaging her breasts. She watched in the mirror, enjoying the contrast of his skin to hers, then looked down as the last couple inches disappeared inside her. Her muscles clenched instinctively around him, buried deep inside her. 

His arms tightened and he groaned. "More," he told her. Ordered her.

She obeyed, moving up and down in long strokes, taking him deep each time. She lifted an arm and reached back to wrap it around his neck. The ache was starting to build again, faster this time. She turned her head to kiss him, but he didn't let linger. "You wanted to watch, watch."

Looking back to the mirror, she watched as she rode him, his big hands stroking over her skin. One slid down, under the water and she moaned an instant before his fingers found her clit and circled it. The jolt of sensation made her lose her rhythm and he started to lift his hips up to her, his thrusts deeper and rougher than hers had been, driving her higher, deepening the ache.

He met her gaze in the mirror just as she let go. Heat flooded her again, as intense as the last time, more so, perhaps. He didn't stop moving, even as she started to clench around him, clit pulsing under his fingers. She cried out, watching herself shake, skin flushed, nipples hard. He pushed her up further, groaning as he followed her. Water sloshed out of the tub, onto the tile and all over the floor.

She slumped back and he caught her, cradling her against his chest as they both caught their breath. She turned her head to nuzzle at his cheek, letting herself go limp, safe in his arms. They floated a little in the water. "I am so in love with you," he murmured.

Several flip responses floated through her mind. But what came out of her mouth was, "I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you."

He was quiet a long moment, before saying, "Me, too."

Something in her chest tightened at that. She shifted, turning in his arms so she could wrap hers around him properly. Love felt like too small a word for what she felt right then. So she just buried her face in the curve of his throat and let him hold her.

*

There was some teasing the next day about them missing the parties, but Steve was in too good a mood to care. Their own entertainment had been far better than anything Las Vegas could provide.

And besides, something had happened last night. He couldn't entirely describe it, but something had changed between them. They'd shifted and settled and fit together better, somehow. 

Which is why he felt comfortable raising his brow at the extremely. . . sparkly cocktail dress she was wearing to the wedding. In response, she pulled out her phone, scrolled a moment and showed him a message from Amanda from a couple weeks ago. _We've decided we're Nat's unofficial bridesmaids. Appropriately Vegas cocktail dress required. Pictures to follow._

"They're accepting me into the inner circle," Sharon said. "I'll wear the sparkly dress."

Hers was a rather electric blue. It reminded him of the color used on the Capette's outfits. "Are they all that color?"

"No." She scrolled another minute and showed him a picture of Pepper in a gold one, then Amanda in a silvery one. "Apparently, they were trying to get Amanda a purple one, because she looked like an eggplant. She threatened them with biological warfare."

Steve laughed. They'd apparently gotten Hill in the purple one. They'd gotten Hill in a _dress_. "How much did they all drink?"

"I'm not sure, but I think they learned the dangers of doing so while Amanda is the sober one." She took the phone back. "I'm told Darcy's is lime green and Jane somehow ended up with fuchsia. Red was off limits."

"Why?"

"Natasha is wearing red. Not sparkly Vegas red. Her wedding dress is red."

"How very her."

"She said it was sentimental. Something about their first date."

"I think their first 'date' was a mission. In Monte Carlo, if I recall correctly." He tipped his head back. "Ah. Casino. Now I get it."

"Apparently, they're nostalgic. Or sentimental." She leaned up to kiss him, wiping the lipstick she'd smudged on him with her thumb afterwards. "I hear it's common among spies."

"Are you sentimental?" he asked her.

"Very much. I kept every email you ever wrote me." She wrinkled her nose. "Which isn't quite the same as a little stack of letters tied with a ribbon, but I try."

"I suppose you could print them and tie that with a ribbon."

"That has honestly crossed my mind." She wiggled her skirt down a little. "Ready?"

"Yes. This is probably the part we shouldn't skip." Her dress was ridiculous. He had no idea why he found it so attractive.

They ran into Darcy and Cal waiting for the elevator. Her dress was, in fact, bright green.

"I agree it would have been a good color for Hulk's hypothetical girlfriend," she was saying. "But as he doesn't have one I have to wear it."

"I'm just confused as to how Jane got the pink."

"She was the only one it fit."

"Good afternoon," Steve said. Darcy's dress was really sort of eye-searing. It was hard to look away.

"Jane's dress more fuchsia than pink," Sharon tried.

"Cal can't tell those apart, he's partially colorblind," Darcy said helpfully.

"I'm not that bad," Cal protested.

"Do we have to talk about the purple shirt again?"

"That shirt is blue."

"It is purple. In fact, it's _lavender_. That's why I stole it. To save you the humiliation of wearing a lavender shirt."

Steve was glad when the elevator doors opened. They has some sort of private terrace that had been decorated with a lot of flowers. It was very pretty and elegant. Not entirely what he envisioned when people said "elopement", but then that didn't usually involve this many guests, or this many sequins. 

They were the last to arrive, everyone else was milling about waiting for festivities to start. Except for Natasha, who was obviously going to make an entrance. Barton was at the front talking to what Steve assumed was the officiant. The archer was wearing a proper, excellently tailored tux. None of the other men were wearing tuxedos, so he assumed that was simply part of their thing. Which was good. Steve hated tuxedos.

He watched Sharon walk over towards the other be-glittered women. She was going to make him wear a tuxedo at their wedding, he just knew it.

The thought stopped him as soon as it formed. Because it had come so easily, and because he was comfortable with the air of inevitability to it. There wasn't any particular urgency. . . but it was a when, not an if.

"Steve," said a voice behind him, shaking him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Phil Coulson behind him.

"Hey. I didn't know they were inviting you. Or that you could get away."

"Two people I once thought couldn't commit to a houseplant getting married? This I had to see."

Steve chuckled. "Yeah. It's nice to see you. This is turning into quite the party." 

Coulson scanned the crowd. "Quite the crew of misfits you all have gathered up. Not that I should talk." His gaze caught on the cluster of women to one side before coming back to Steve. "How are things with you and Sharon?"

"I assume you've seen the news?"

"I have. You'll notice I avoided the words 'shack' and 'love' in my polite inquiry."

"That really had some traction, didn't it?" He shrugged. "Good, aside from that. I've been staying with her in DC while she looks for a position to transfer to in New York." 

"That's good. Long distance can be difficult." There was something deep and sad under the other man's words. Steve remembered something about a cellist in the North West. "She seems to be getting along with the other Rockettes."

"They have adopted her. It frightens me a little." 

"It should." Bucky slung his arm around his shoulders in a move so familiar he had a moment of deja vu. "Is it just me or is her dress the _exact_ color of the old Captain America showgirls?"

"I didn't want to be the one to say it," Coulson agreed.

He rapped his knuckles against Bucky's arm. "Is that why Amanda's in silver?"

Bucky nodded slowly. "I'm told an attempt was made to coordinate our girls with our uniforms. Which was made more difficult since half of us use red. Hence poor Jane."

So the blue had been deliberate. Steve had no idea why that made him so happy. A measure of comfort, perhaps, that she'd publicly embrace that. Most of the other ladies seemed to have t-shirts or other gear with their partner's logo on it. He'd never thought about it, but he'd never seen one on Sharon. Now he wondered if that had been tangled up in her fear of reminding him of his past.

"Amanda tried to track down one of the helmets but no luck."

"I have a guy," Coulson said. "I can ask around."

Of course there was such a thing as going too far.

The ceremony was shorter than Bucky and Amanda's had been—or maybe it just seemed that way because he didn't have to stand up front the whole time. Nat's dress was very red, but not at all show-girl. It was the sort of thing you could never have worn as a wedding dress in the '40's. But he liked that. The longer he lived in it, the more he like the freedom and expressiveness of the modern world. It spoke to the artist in him.

Sharon had brought a giant purse that was incongruous with her little dress, though he hadn't commented because he knew better. It finally made sense when in the middle of the ceremony she quietly reached down and pulled out her big-lensed camera. There was no photographer for privacy reasons. Natasha had insisted they didn't really need pictures. "They'd be sorry later," Sharon whispered as she leaned out into the aisle.

When she repeated her vows, Nat said, "I promise," rather than I do, which made Barton smile. The officiant pronounced them man and wife and she reached up to untie the bow of his tux, letting the ends dangle down. She gave Barton a little nod and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Steve heard the shutter on Sharon's camera flutter rapidly.

The rest of them cheered. Darcy whistled sharply with her fingers in her mouth and Nat tossed her little nosegay of white flowers at her as she and Barton parted.

"Oh, good," Steve said to Sharon. "I think if you'd caught that one, too, we'd be legally required to go down and get married by an Elvis impersonator." She'd caught the bouquet at Bucky and Amanda's wedding.

"We are tempting fate with all these weddings." She snapped a few pictures of Darcy looking triumphant and kissing Cal. She checked the picture on the preview screen and smiled. "I suppose Elvis and I would be equally sparkly."

"I suppose I'd have to don some glitter, too. Just out of fairness."

"My niece would happily bedazzle your shield."

He laughed so loud others turned to look at him.


	19. Chapter 19

There was a small buffet and bar set up on one end of the terrace. They all wandered over to snack and Sharon changed her lens and fiddled with her settings so she could keep taking pictures. With the stress of the paparazzi and the busy pace of the holidays, she hadn't had much chance to take pictures since their trip to Italy. It was nice to see her in her element again. 

Steve leaned on the railing to watch her take her pictures, and eventually Nat wandered over. "Hello. Congratulations."

"Thank you." She held up her hand, showing off the slim gold band she now wore. "I imagine it's quite chilly in hell, right now."

Sharon was taking pictures of Ruby Stark, who they'd put in a very frilly dress and the world's tiniest patent-leather shoes. "Funny the turns life takes, isn't it?"

"We live in strange times." She followed his gaze. "I'm glad you're happy, Steve."

He sighed. "I really am."

Nat looked down at her dress, smoothing a hand over her stomach. "The first night I was. . . with Clint was the first time I was ever really myself. I've come to think. . . that's what love is. Becoming the best version of yourself. And seeing the best version of your partner."

"It's good to see you happy, too."

She smiled and glanced around the terrace, searching for Barton a moment, before looking back at Steve. "We miss you at the Tower. But I know building a relationship with an audience is hard. Just know we'll be happy to have you back, both of you, when you can."

"We'd have more privacy there," he said after a moment. "Stark has security. NYPD wouldn't let them camp on the sidewalk, and the Port Authority wouldn't let them camp downstairs in Grand Central. And I'm nowhere near the most interesting thing coming in and out of the Tower daily anyway." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "At least the audience there would be friendly."

"Are the paparazzi getting aggressive?" Natasha sounded concerned, and a little angry. "I would think I'd have heard about one of you getting into something with them."

"The photographers are just annoying. The real bullies are on TV and the internet, and I can't reach them."

"Is Sharon doing all right? Spies generally don't handle being famous well. As example, I give you my husband." She gave a rather silly smile after saying the word.

"She's having some trouble with her family. Otherwise I think so. I don't know." He sighed. "She's got kind of a stiff-upper-lip bit she does. Is that a spy thing?"

"I think that might be a 'woman in a man's world' thing," Nat told him. "Or possibly a Carter family thing. History indicates they aren't fans of blinking in the face of hardship."

"That is certainly true," he said with a smile. "Being around you guys would probably help that. Normalize the experience. Pepper's used to being stalked by the press and accused of all sorts of unsavory things. You've been through the transition from covert operative to famous person." 

"She's always welcome at the club. I see she was given the showgirl dress memo." Nat smiled fondly. "Having friends helps a great many things. It's nice to know you're not alone. To have a yardstick to hold yourself against. There are certain. . . unique facets to being an Avenger girlfriend."

"I've noticed." Someone had told her about the incident when they were last in New York. He just knew it.

Sharon was on her way over to them. "Your bridesmaids want a picture with you," she informed Nat, who grinned.

Banner ended up taking it, so Sharon could be in it with the rest of them. All of them lined up together were a little eye searing. It was probably better not to look directly at them.

After retrieving her camera, Sharon made her way back to his side, flicking through her photos on the preview screen. "I wanted to show you this one," she said, tucking into his side to show him a shot of Bucky's metal hand curled protectively around Amanda's stomach. "I think I'll print that out for them. Maybe in black and white."

He kissed her temple. "They would love that."

She leaned into his side, a warm solid presence against him. "Darcy's trying to convince people to go to karaoke. Stark offered me $5000 to sing Star Spangled Man."

"I would contribute to that cause." Then he stopped. "Except someone would film it and it would end up on the internet."

"Pepper thought if I held out I could get 10. When I left Amanda was suggesting duets for you and Bucky."

"You've hit the champagne, haven't you?"

"I had a sip. Not sure what Amanda's excuse is." She looked up at him. "Did you know there was a Captain America musical?"

"Oh yes." He paused. "Were you not aware of it?"

"I was not. Amanda is sending me a bootleg."

"She's fond of the soundtrack."

"I would have been eight when it came out, not exactly up on my Broadway hits."

He slung an arm around her shoulder. "Did Amanda tell you that made her feel old?"

"I did. She started bugging Bucky for a drink. He called her a cradle robber and she started hitting his arm."

"She's the cradle robber? He's turning 100 this year." Steve paused. "Wow, we really should throw a party for that."

"Jane explained they have a running joke over who is robbing the cradle because he's turning 100 but is biologically in his mid thirties whereas Amanda will be 40 this summer any way you slice it." Sharon leaned her arm on him. "Can we just agree you're robbing the cradle and not complicate things?"

"Biologically we're the same age."

"Even better."

*

They were on the flight home when Sharon's phone rang. It was her mother. She hoped, as she hit the button to take the call, that this wasn't going to be a bad conversation.

Her mother opened with, "Did you get married?"

"I- what? Why would you ask me that?"

"The TV says you've eloped to Las Vegas. There are pictures."

"Oh my God." She put the phone down and leaned over to talk to Darcy and Cal. "Google me and Steve and see what the latest news stories on us are." They both pulled out phones and she went back to her mother. "No. I did not get married. We were there for a mission. I would not elope, Mom."

"Well, I don't know what is going on with you these days."

"Because last time I talked to you I endured a lecture about embarrassing Aunt Lilly." She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath, counting through it. One of Steve's hands settled on the small of her back. "I'm not having thing conversation right now, I'm on a plane. I will call you when I get home."

When she hung up, Cal held up his phone. "Someone took pictures of you in the lobby and at the breakfast buffet. Different anonymous sources working at the hotel confirmed the Avengers were in town, and that there was a private wedding booked in the hotel, including the booking information, which was done by a shell corporation traced back to Stark. Conclusions were then made and reported on."

"His google-fu is better than mine," Darcy said. "But the internet seems happy for you. People claim they're sending wedding gifts."

"Oh, my God," she muttered, burying her face in her hands.

"We'll handle returning any that come to the Tower," Pepper offered.

"Thanks," she said into her hands. Her phone was buzzing again. "Could someone toss that out the window for me?"

Steve put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. "I'm sorry."

She slumped against him. "It's not your fault."

Darcy reached over and picked up her phone for her. "Sharon Carter's line. No, she's unavailable, this is her answering service." Darcy gave a little, un-like her chuckle. "No, no. Those photos were taken completely out of context, there's nothing to the rumors. Ms. Carter is still deciding whether or not to make a statement. Mmmhmm. I'll pass the message." She hung up and grinned at Sharon. "Got your back, sister."

"Who was that, and why did they have her number?" Steve asked.

"Huffington Post and they didn't say."

"It's actually pretty easy to get someone's personal number," Cal offered. "People tend to use it as a contact on all manner of things. Someone would just need to find somewhere with low security that has it and go hunting. Some stores even put it on shipping labels."

"All right," Pepper said. "I think it's time you let us handle this."

Sharon sat up enough to look at Steve. "I think she's right," she said quietly. 

"What does 'handling it' mean?" he asked.

"Well, we'll start with getting you a secure phone for one. Sic legal on the stuff we can stop and PR on the stuff we can't."

"Also," Stark called from the front where he was flying the jet, "You should accept that famous people can't just live in a random apartment complex in Arlington."

"Tony," Pepper said. 

Steve tensed under her hand and she slid it up to rub the back of his neck. "One thing at a time."

"We can set up a meeting or call when we get home," Pepper said. "It's not a discussion that needs an audience."

They dropped them off about an hour later. Sharon was relieved there weren't any cameras parked in front of the apartment. Probably figured they were on their honeymoon. She unlocked the door and Steve carried their bags into the bed room as she hunted out Barnabas and scooped him up to bury her face in his fur.

"I'm sorry," Steve said quietly.

With a sigh, she put the cat down and walked over to him. "I don't blame you," she told him honestly. "I love you. You're worth . . . all this and more. But please stop apologizing. You make me feel guilty for getting upset and I think I'm allowed a little frustration."

"You are. It's just hard to know that I'm causing you problems. I want to do something about it and I can't."

Helpless was not an emotion he was familiar with, she knew that. "Hugs will help."

That made him smile, and he held out his arms to wrap her in them. She did feel very safe like this, tucked against his body and surrounded by him. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. "See? This is nice. I feel much better."

"I used to think I could fight the whole world. Maybe I can't."

"There's a lot of different way to fight." She stroked her hands up and down his back. "You and I are good at certain kinds. Pepper and Stark and their legal and PR teams are good at others. The joy of having a team is having help when you need it."

"What about moving?" he asked after a moment.

She sighed. "I still don't have any job leads in New York. Or did you mean finding somewhere more secure down here?"

"A building in the city with a doorman would probably help. Or a house I could build a big fence around. But that would make us stuck here longer. A year at least."

"Getting a house seems like giving up on finding a position up north." She nuzzled his shoulder a moment. "But I'm not opposed to finding a different apartment. I'll miss this place, though."

"Will you?"

Surprised, she leaned back, "Of course. This is. . . most of our relationship was in this place."

"I suppose it was. Even the parts we didn't know were a relationship."

She ran her hands over his back again, tucking them under his sweater to feel skin. "Let's see what Stark's people have to say. Maybe they can get the press down to a dull enough roar we can still hold out for New York. Otherwise, I can ask around work about safe buildings and such."

"Sounds like a plan." He bent his head, kissing just below her ear and whispering, "Come to bed."

She shivered, fingers flexing on his back. "Yes, sir."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shortish chapter. Pacing these last quarter of the fic was a bitch. Sunday's chapter is back to normal length.

A spokesperson from Stark Industries issued a statement that Captain America had not gotten married over the weekend. Rumors swirled a bit about _who_ exactly had gotten married. Stark and Pepper were leading contenders, and no one from PR was willing to comment on that. Steve expected that was to give Natasha and Barton cover, though apparently the former Russian assassin and the archer no one could ever get a good picture of were not high on the internet's list of possible brides and grooms. 

Steve had learned a lot this week. Cal Bennett had someone on his staff whose full time job was to monitor what the internet for things about the Avengers. Seemed an odd task for someone from tech support, but Stark claimed security people were too humorless and PR people were too afraid of the dark corners of the internet. Cal had emailed him after they got back from Vegas to mention that TV news usually trailed the internet by hours, if not days. So now Steve got a digest every morning, plus standing orders to notify him of anything really egregious that popped up. 

Intel made him feel a little more in control. He couldn't _do_ anything about what was being said, but he could at least keep them from getting ambushed by calls from Sharon's mother. 

For her part, Sharon fielded a long series of phone calls from her family, culminating in a Sunday dinner a week after the Vegas trip. It was less awkward than Christmas had been, partly, he thought, because they'd stopped being polite. Her brothers asked him about growing up in Brooklyn and seeing baseball "in the good old days" while her father peppered him with war story requests. Her mother just seemed to want to feed him, he could see where Sharon got her cooking from.

He volunteered to wash the dishes after dinner, and wouldn't take no for an answer. Automatic dishwashers were one of things Steve really liked about the modern world, but Sharon's mother had brought out the good china, and that couldn't go in one. Steve appreciated just having a few moments of peace. Her family was a bit loud.

Her mother bustled in after a few minutes. "Found a few stray glasses," she said, adding them to the pile. 

He gave her his best publicity smile. "Not a problem."

She studied him a moment, then waved a hand. "Oh, sweetie, you can turn off the USO charm. I'm a Carter by marriage I don't care who you are." She drew a little foot stool over and climbed up to open the cabinet over the fridge. "Bourbon?"

That provoked a real smile. "If you're trying to loosen me up, I should warn you I can't get drunk. But I'll take a little anyway."

"Sweetie, that sounds awful." She jumped down and pulled out two juice glasses. "This is the good stuff, though. You can drink it for the taste." After pouring them both a couple fingers she stoppered the bottle and clinked her glass with his. "Cheers."

It was, in fact, the good stuff. He didn't mention Thor's mead. Bringing up Asgard tended to distract people, and clearly she wanted to talk to him. They drank in silence for a moment, then he said, "So."

"When I met Jack's family for the first time I was _terrified_ ," she said pleasantly. "His parents died when he was in middle school and Peggy and Daniel took him in. All I heard when we started dating was how wonderful his aunt was. How she'd founded SHIELD and known Captain America and had won the war. Oh, by the time I met her I might as well have been meeting the queen. And then I came over and she was this lovely little grey haired woman with a crisp accent and easy smile." She shook her head at the memory. "This family loves its legacy, its history, but it tends to forget that the people in history books were people first." She looked up at him. "I was afraid, when Sharon first told me she was seeing you, that she was dating Captain America, and not Steve Rogers."

"And that I was chasing a ghost?"

To his surprise, she shook her head with a little shrug that reminded him of Sharon. "Jack was worried about that for a while. But if you wanted to date next-generation Peggy then Sharon's cousin Anna is a far closer physical match. And if it wasn't physical and your type is just pretty workaholics that can toss a bad guy through a window, then, well, who am I to judge?" She sipped her bourbon. "Remind me to show you her old tae kwon do videos. You'll love it. The sensei used to use her to break the egos of teenage boys."

He laughed. "I would love to see those."

She reached over and tipped a little more bourbon into his glass. "You two have been putting up with far too much crap for this to be anything other than real. I can tell when my daughter is happy. With you, she is. So I don't know what the rest of the family thinks or whispers. I like you. I like who Sharon is with you."

"I like who I am with her," he said. He took another drink of his bourbon. "I love your daughter. Not many many people actually see me, you know? Even less people who I can really relax around. I'd fight very hard to hold onto that."

Mrs. Carter nodded, looking into her glass. From the other room there was a roar of laughter. He could hear Sharon's among the rest and just the sound of it settled something in him. "When you do get married, you promise to invite me?"

Steve ducked his head. When, not if. "I promise. I imagine it will be quite the spectacle."

"I should think. We'll have cousins coming out of the woodwork."

"Sharon has asked me to stop apologizing to her. . . but I want to say I'm sorry for any harassment or scrutiny your family is getting because of me."

"So far they've ignored us. We'll handle it, whatever comes. That what family does."

He nodded, and raised his glass before draining it. "I should finish the dishes."

She waved a hand. "Leave them. Come on, we're going to pick a board game."

"Should I go get my shield?"

"Only if Jack brings out the Monopoly."

The Carters were viciously competitive. They played a game about epidemics that Steve had never seen before, but was fun. Then everyone got hugged and they were turned out into the night, stuffed and tired. Sharon was a little tipsy. "That was way better than Christmas," he told her.

She wrapped her hands around his arm, leaning on him as they walked. "Yes, it was. That's more what family dinners usually are."

His bike was parked in the driveway, and he stopped beside it to tuck her scarf over her nose and help her put on her helmet. "Your mother gave me her seal of approval."

"Oh good. I was hoping that was the purpose of her visit to the kitchen."

"As opposed to threatening my life?"

"It was a legitimate concern." He climbed on the bike and waited for her to swing her leg over and settle in behind him, wrapping her arms around him and pressing up against his back. 

He lifted one of her hands and kissed the palm, before placing it back against his abdomen. "Ready?"

She hugged him a little tighter. "Are you gonna go fast?"

"That a concern or a request?"

Her fingers flexed against him and she wiggled closer again. "Request."

He glanced back over his shoulder and fired up the engine. "Are we going to break things tonight?"

The lower half of her face was covered in scarf, but her eyes crinkled in a smile. "I hope so."

*

There was a week or two of quiet, where the gossip and attention died down again. Sharon felt almost normal. Then she turned on the TV on a Saturday morning while Steve was on his run to find there had been a very ugly terrorist attack in the middle east. Someone had used an arc reactor to build a bomb.

She watched the report for a while when her phone started to buzz. A glanced showed it was Maria Hill's number. "Hello?"

"Why is Steve not answering his phone?"

"He's on his run. I expect him back soon. Is this about the bomb?"

"Yes. Will he pick up for you?"

"He should. Sometimes he just doesn't notice. When are you guys picking him up?"

"Not sure yet. There's a. . . dispute about who is going on this particular mission." It was then that Sharon realized she could hear the muffled sounds of an argument in the background on Hill's end. The only voice she could clearly pick out was Stark, but then, he was loud.

She should really hang up and try to get a hold of Steve. But Avenger drama was kind of hard to resist. "What's the problem?"

"Doc wants to go help with triage. They hit a hospital. There's a lot of wounded and a distinct shortage of medics on the ground. Barnes would prefer her and her very pregnant belly stayed as far away from the terrorists as possible. Everyone else has picked a side and is trying to out shout the other."

"I feel like Barnes is on the losing side of that one."

"We're trying to work out some adequate protective clothing." Hill lowered her voice. "She'll be helpful if we take her, but we'll lose Barnes's utility if he's hovering over her the whole time. Hang on," she said, and apparently moved the phone away from her mouth. Sharon still heard her call out, "Hey, what about Ruby's bodyguard?" 

Stark called back something about skiing. Then the arguing picked back up and she heard Hill sigh.

Sharon wondered briefly if Steve was going to be mad at her for this. He did like Amanda. "I'll do it."

"I'm sorry, what?" Hill asked.

"I can guard her, I have the training."

"Shit. Of course. I should have thought of that. Pack your gear and text me when Steve's back. I'll sell them on it. Thanks." She hung up before Sharon could answer. Hill didn't like small talk.

Well. Now she really hoped Steve didn't kill her. She called him, hoping the ring would be more noticeable than texting, and headed for their room to get her stuff.

"Hey," he answered with, clearly out of breath.

"Hi, where are you?"

"Three miles out. What's up?"

"There was a bombing in Oman. They used Stark tech. The team is going out to help and Hill's been trying to reach you."

"Oh. Yeah, I see that. I Do-Not-Disturb everyone but you when I'm running. I'll be home in ten minutes."

"See you then." She hung up so he could focus on running. Her tac gear was in the back of the closet and it took her a few minutes to dig up an old sports bra and shirt to wear under the jump suit. She was still half dressed when he came in sweating and out of breath. He must have really sprinted the last couple miles. 

"Hill told me pick up in twenty minutes. I just want to jump in the shower and. . ." he trailed off when he got a look at her. "Your people getting involved, too?" He went into the bathroom and turned the water on. "Didn't know the CIA did search and rescue. Or are you going somewhere else?"

She took a deep breath and forced her voice to be calm and light. "Amanda wants to go but Bucky was protesting." She paused a beat. "Hill was pretty sure he'd spend the whole time hovering and be of no use so I offered to come play bodyguard to put his mind at ease." Making it about Bucky was probably a little manipulative, but a girl used the weapons at her disposal.

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Call Stark and tell him what kind of arms you want on the plane, I know you only keep the sidearm here."

If he wasn't making a big deal of it then neither would she. But she did grin and kiss his cheek. "Will do." She waited a minute just to watch him strip off his running gear and get in the shower. He rolled his eyes like he often did when she openly ogled him at a time he couldn't make something of it.

She was barely any more ready when he emerged with a towel around his waist. Men could shower in two minutes—especially if they didn't need to shave, which he'd done before his run. That he absolutely refused to leave the house with scruff was on the list of things she teased him about sometimes. She'd tell him he was blond, no one would even notice, and he responded insisting that _he_ would know, and that was enough. He was still, occasionally, very 1940's. 

She was still on the phone with Hill discussing gear; Stark had gone downstairs to find someone to watch Ruby while they were gone because Pepper was in London. By the time she hung up, Steve was more dressed than she was. She'd missed the back half of the show.

"Listen," he said. "I don't give Bucky any special treatment, the same goes for you. I give an order, you follow it."

"I'd be pissed if you did," she told him honestly. "You're CO, I got it." She shrugged into the top of her catsuit and zipped it up, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

He shrugged. "It can be hard to change head spaces."

Admittedly, she'd never been on a mission where she was sleeping with any of the other members, let alone in love with them. But she had generally been friendly with coworkers. She knew how to differentiate Jo her drinking buddy from Martinez her field commander. She checked her mag and holstered her gun, then tugged on her belt with extra mags and a spare holster for the second handgun Hill had promised her.

When she was fully loaded up she tugged her gloves on and stretched up to kiss him. "You're in charge, Cap."

"Tonight," he murmured against her mouth, "We are really going to break things."

She sucked his lower lip into her mouth before stepping back. "Yes, sir."


	21. Chapter 21

The jet picked them up in the usual spot. Sharon tried not to be too giddy and excited as they boarded, but she kind of was. She was going on a mission with the Avengers. She liked to think of herself as reasonably grounded, but this was really cool. 

"Hey," Steve called up to the front where Barton and Natasha were flying. "How was the honeymoon?"

Nat turned in her chair. "Very relaxing." She was as pale as ever, but from what Sharon could see of Barton he'd gotten quite a tan. "We discussed annexing Stark's place and never coming back," Nat added.

"It's only sixty acres," Stark said. "Even if you went into the woods, I'd find you eventually."

That provoked a derisive, "No you wouldn't," from Barton. Sharon had known enough snipers to believe him.

"Where's Banner?" Steve asked.

"Sultan of Oman said no Hulk," Stark replied.

"Yeah, but if they're so desperate for doctors you're bringing a pregnant lady. . ."

Stark shook his head. "He's been in kind of a mood lately. Enough I'm not sure we could actually guarantee no Hulk."

"He's in a mood because you keep bringing your baby down to the lab and disrupting his work," Amanda said, sounding like she'd said the same thing 800 times. 

"Pepper's been busy," he said defensively.

"You can't bring an infant into an experimental lab," Amanda continued. "Nor can you expect your CEO not-a-wife to watch her while she tries to run the company you gave her. How can you be so smart and so stupid at the same time?"

"We're making it work."

She looked over at Bucky. "He's too far away, can you punch him for me?"

Bucky complied, metal clanking against metal. Nat got up and came back to hand Sharon a swath of black fabric. "To cover your hair." 

"Thanks." She wound it over her head and around her neck, using a couple of bobby pins to hold it in place. Across the way, Nat helped Amanda do the same. Then Stark went over the arms he'd brought for her. They were Stark brand, not available for purchase and had all manner of cool features.

"We get the good toys," Bucky confirmed when he saw her face.

Stark also handed her an earpiece to tap her into their comm system. 

"He talks to himself while operating the suit," Steve told her. "You get used to it."

"Got it." She tucked it into her ear and resettled her head wrap.

"Wheels down in twenty," Barton announced from the cock pit.

"I'm talking to JARVIS," Stark insisted, "Not myself."

Across from her Bucky rolled his eyes, and began checking the vests he'd wrapped Amanda in. "Still annoying."

Stark looked over at them. "I should make you a suit."

Amanda had her eyes closed but her brows went up at the suggestion. Sharon had the distinct impression the baby still hated flying. "I enjoyed the repulser you lent me. Will it be red and gold?"

"No, I have that trademarked."

"Of course you do," Bucky muttered.

Amanda smiled. "I appreciate how seriously you all are taking this 'Doc is an Avenger' thing Barton started."

"Having a medic is a good idea," Steve said. "If you hadn't been there that day at the FDA building, I'd be dead. Wouldn't I?"

"If I hadn't been there at the FDA, you wouldn't have been shot," she said quietly. "But to your broader point, yes, immediate medical attention does make a difference."

"Your suit could have medical equipment attached," Stark said, apparently excited about his new project. "Monitors and IVs and—ooh, I could give it a defibrillator."

"You don't use those as often as movies would have you believe. I'll make you a list when we get home," she told him.

The plane jerked and thumped as Barton set it down. The ramp opened up to what looked like total chaos.

"Jesus," Nat muttered as they filed out onto the dirt.

Sharon could see the burnt out ruins of the hospital a couple hundred yards out. It was still smoking in places. People were climbing over it and she could hear them calling out for survivors even at this distance.

"That must be triage," Amanda said, gesturing to a hastily built tent/lean-to down to their left. There were lines of people laid out on blankets and tarps, some with cloths over their faces. Most were bleeding. Doc started towards it and Sharon resettled the strap of her rifle and went to follow.

It was a long, exhausting day. About two hours in they discovered one of the bombs hadn't exploded, though it was still armed. They had to move the triage station and as many of the wounded as they could to give Stark clear space to fly it out to be dumped in the Indian Ocean. Thor showed up about that time, having been out of contact that morning. 

Since Sharon's job was to guard, she spent her time watching. She'd never seen them in action before, not like this. They worked together like a well choreographed dance. She knew intellectually that Steve could lift an enormous amount, but seeing him actually carrying and moving giant hunks of rubble was still quite something.

Everyone took a break to eat something in the middle of the day. Not long after, Natasha's voice came over the comm. "I need another pair of hands in here."

"Nat, I can't fit through that hole," Barton replied.

"Can somebody go widen it for them?" That was Steve.

"No," Natasha and Barton replied in unison. "It's shaky as it is," she added. "Don't want to risk it, there's kids in here."

Sharon had her mouth open when Barton beat her to it, "Carter, how good a climber are you?"

"I had the second place ladies record on the rock wall at the Trisk," she said.

"Who had first?" That was Stark.

"Barton. He had all the first places on the wall, simply on principle." Behind her, she heard Doc snort in laughter.

"Wow, that record was like ten years old," he said. "I had no idea somebody had sights on my back."

"They get younger every year," Stark said. "I was going offer you a lift but now I'm afraid I'd offend your honor."

"If I'm doing this I need someone to take over guard duty." She'd noticed Steve had not actually signed off on this plan. "And someone to tell me where I'm going."

"I'm heading over," Barnes said and a moment later she saw him separate from the crowd milling around the building. "Head to where I'm coming from and Hawkeye will flag you down."

"Hang on," Steve said finally. "How unstable is that cavern?"

Natasha came back on. "Rogers, I need help in here and no one else will fit."

"Yes, I know, but—"

"No 'but'," Barton said. " _My_ wife is in there, and I'm not complaining."

"Well, you kind of are now," Stark apparently felt compelled to point out. 

"You people dragged my wife here and she's pregnant," Barnes added.

"Hey!" Steve barked, sharp enough everyone stopped talking. He sounded rather irritated. "Might I finish a sentence?" 

There was silence a moment, then Nat said, "Can you finish it quickly? Because I'm not getting anymore not in a hole."

"Barton, go down and watch Doc. I want Thor to go up there, if there's a cave in, you'll be the most capable of holding the roof up and digging out. Take Carter up while you're at it."

She was inordinately pleased he'd called her Carter. She shed her big gun and her belt to make climbing easier. Barnes reached her just before Thor landed. "I'll wait for Barton."

"Be careful," Doc called as Thor tucked an arm around Sharon and started to spin up the hammer.

The ride up to the top of the rubble was fast and a little stomach churning. "You could charge five tickets for that at the fair," she muttered, finding footholds before he let her go.

The gap Natasha had crawled through was impossibly small. She had to empty her pockets and take off her holster to fit, and then climb down to where Nat was trying to move a steel girder that had trapped two children behind it.

Sharon went over immediately and put her shoulder to it, sliding it slowly up and to the side until it caught on another one, making a gap big enough for the kids to slip through. Nat stayed there to help them through while Sharon walked them over to the hole that lead to the outside. One by one, she boosted them through.

"Stark is taking them down," Thor called through the hole.

"Good?" Sharon asked Nat.

"Yeah, that's just a dead end back here. And I'd prefer to get he hell out of here."

"Agreed." She had about five inches on Nat, so she gave her a boost to the hole. When she'd made it through, she hauled herself up. When she got up, the girder she put her knee on shifted and she felt something dig into her calf. She muttered a curse and twisted around to free herself without getting hurt worse. 

All she could see was a bloody rip in her pant leg. It didn't hurt, which meant it was very mild or very bad. Nat called down, "You okay?"

She sighed, feeling irrationally embarrassed. "Well, the good news is I'm up to date on my tetanus shot." Using mostly her arms, she hauled herself up the short tunnel and out into the air.

It didn't seem interested in bearing weight, but Nat caught her before she could fall on her ass. She rather efficiently ripped away the bottom of Sharon's pant leg to get a look at it. "Is Doc on?"

"Are you all right?" Steve asked. He was clearly trying but not quite managing to hide the alarm in his voice.

"I'm fine," she said. "I caught my leg on something."

Doc's voice came on. "I'm here. What's it look like Nat?"

"Puncture to the calf muscle. No tearing, but it looks deep."

"It's starting to hurt," Sharon admitted.

"Thor, bring her down, I'll need to clean it out, puncture wounds get infected at the drop of a hat."

"We'll be down in a moment," Thor said. "Ladies, arms around my neck, one in front and on in back."

"Why does Thor get all the fun jobs?" Stark cracked. 

They ignored him, of course, and Thor deposited Sharon and Nat the triage tent before going back to the rubble. Nat helped Sharon limp over to a crate to sit on before turning back herself. Doc came over to take a look at it. She'd shed most of the protective layers Barnes had wrapped her in, because it was about a hundred degrees out, and she was well clear of anything dangerous. She did still have a mask over her mouth and nose, thought Sharon could see her eye crinkle with a smile over the top. "Bit of a scratch?" Doc asked.

"Merely a flesh wound," she agreed, twisting so the other woman could look at it.

"Actually, that's fairly accurate," Doc said eventually. "I need to irrigate it, then I can bandage you up. You might want to take your comm out, this is gonna hurt like a bitch."

It did, in fact, hurt like a bitch. Sharon was glad she took Doc's advice and took out the earpiece because she invented all new curse words as the wound was irrigated.

Apparently, her going off the comm must have been the last straw for Steve's determination to be detached and professional. When the pain receded and she opened her eyes, he was hovering behind Doc.

She grit her teeth as Doc smeared antibiotic cream in the puncture and wrapped it in bandages. "It'll heal quick, but it's gonna itch like hell," Doc told her. "Stay off it today. When we get back to the states I'll show you how to rebandage it and give you home care instructions."

"Thanks," Sharon said as the other woman moved on to the next patient. She look up at Steve. "Hi."

He cleared his throat. "I sent Barton back up and am taking a turn guarding Doc."

She sighed. "I can probably do it sitting." It was worth a shot.

"I'm sure you can," he said. "I just thought, you know, while you were being bandaged. . ." He sounded like even he knew how obvious it was that he'd come just to check on her.

"I appreciate it." She paused a moment. Now that it wasn't being fussed with, her leg felt fine. "We still gonna break things tonight?" What the hell, she hadn't put her comm back in.

He blinked. "You're injured."

She arched her brows. "Not in any of my important parts."

Steve's cheeks flushed suddenly, and he turned his head a little and said, "I didn't need to know that." Because his comm was still on. And, she would imagine, had picked up her voice. He tipped his head back. "Okay, I _really_ didn't need to know _that_."

Apparently, she was missing quite the conversation. She tried to think who would be giving him too much information. "Stark or Romanov?"

"Bucky," he said, making a face. "And Thor."

Steve winced, and the same time Sharon heard Doc's voice from somewhere behind her yell, " _James!_."

"All right people, back to work," Steve said. "We'll talk later," he said to Sharon.

She'd just put her comm back in, in time to hear Stark say, "No, I'd totally be able to tell. JARVIS can detect motion through the floor." 

Sharon tugged her rifle into her lap. "I appreciate the support guys, but if you embarrass him too badly I really won't have any fun tonight."

"Do you really call it 'breaking things?'" Apparently Bucky considered himself immune from her warning.

How could she resist? "Only sometimes," she said, giving Steve a little smile.

*

Sharon had to take a couple of days off of work for her leg to heal, and they stayed in New York. She probably would have been fine, but she let Steve fuss over her anyway. It was safe and quiet there. Even the mattress was better than their bed in DC. Steve enjoyed the few days locked away with her.

"We could start spending weekends up here."

He was packing while she sat with her leg propped up on pillows. He stopped what he was doing and looked over at her and she continued, "Come up Friday night leave Sunday. Spend time with your friends, try out restaurants. Especially with the Barnes's baby coming soon I thought. . . you might like more time here."

He grinned. "I would like that, actually, thank you."

"Good. Are you going to let me walk down to the subway or am I getting more damsel in distress time?"

"We're taking a cab to Penn Station," he told her.

"So splitting the difference, then."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Doc said to take it easy."

"She also said I was healing nicely and you're a fussbudget."

"Right now, I am allowed to fuss," he said. It came out sounding more irritated than he intended. He made a face and turned back to his packing. 

A moment later her arms slid around him from behind and she leaned on him, pressing a kiss into his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "You take very good care of me."

He sighed, letting his shoulders slump a little. "It was hard," he said quietly, giving voice to something he'd been trying not to think about. "Harder than I thought it would be."

"Having me on mission?"

"Yeah. The rubble cave-in, you getting hurt. . ."

She rubbed his chest with the flat of her palm, resting her cheek in his back. "I'm sorry. I know what it feels like to worry." She sighed. "I want to promise you I'll never be in that sort of situation again, but. . . if the team needed me I would want to help." She paused. "You wouldn't love me if I was the kind of person who didn't."

"I know. You did really well. And in the moment I could treat you like another member of the team. At this point they are all people I love like family. The Commandos weren't any different. I can compartmentalize like that—despite the rest of them assuming I couldn't."

"You even called me Carter," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"That's kind of how the compartmentalization works. I would not be able to sent Sharon up an unstable rubble pile."

"I understand completely." She slipped around to face him. She was, he noted, still limping a little, which he felt completely excused any fussing. "And now that it's done and you're not in that compartment it keeps hitting you?"

"If it makes you feel any better, when Bucky got shot I beat myself up for weeks." He stroked her hair. "In this compartment I want to bundle you up and keep you safe."

"I confess, I enjoyed some of the fussing. And I don't want you beating yourself up." She leaned her face into his hand. "I love you. What can I do to help?"

He dipped his head to kiss her. "Take the cab to Penn Station, and the cab we will also get from Union Station back home, without complaining." 

Her nose wrinkled a little, but she slid her arms up around his neck. "Yes, sir, Captain, sir."

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Go sit, let me pack."


	22. Chapter 22

Two weekends later was Bucky's 100th birthday. Amanda had recruited Nat and the other ladies to plan it and there were a tremendous amount of over the hill jokes and a huge sheet cake with 100 candles on it. Sharon printed out good quality prints of Bucky and Amanda she'd taken at Barton and Nat's wedding, as well as some landscapes she had of New York and made a collage as his present. The others were right, having a girl did streamline his gift giving.

At the end of the night, he found himself out on Stark's balcony with Bucky, while the others handed out cake and coffee. Bucky squinted out at the city. "When I pictured us celebrating our birthdays as old men, this is not what I pictured."

"Was there more enfeeblement and false teeth?"

"That. There was also more rocking chairs and weathered porch in, I don't know, Long Island? Jersey?" He gestured at the skyline. "None of the dime novels I read prepared me for this."

Steve glanced over at him. "You read dime novels about being old?"

"I read dime novels about the marvels of the future. Yet here we are. No flying cars. No aliens space babes."

"Coulson has a flying car," Steve commented. "It's got repulsers on it. And Thor definitely knows some alien space babes."

Bucky grinned. "I stand corrected. The future is exactly as advertised."

"I know what you mean, though. It's pretty surreal when you think about it. The future is more like the past than we expected. It's still dirty and loud and full of assholes."

"Still full of bullies." He sipped the Asgardian mead Thor had given him. "Not all bad though. The Earth babes are pretty nice."

"Say it's not 2017. Say it's 1950." He turned to look back through the glass. Coincidentally, Sharon was sitting next to Amanda, hand on her bump, feeling the baby move. "Isn't this about where we expected to be?"

For a moment, they just stood and watched their women through the windows. "I don't know that I ever could have seen 'Manda coming," Bucky said softly. "But yeah, this feels about right."

"I can't believe you're going to be a dad," Steve said.

"I'm still having mild panic attacks about it myself. Amanda has informed me I don't get to be a '50s dad. I will be changing diapers and staying up till two am."

"I think that's good. Sharing the load. She's not a '50s mom."

"No. As she continues to remind me." He was quiet a moment. "I get angry, sometimes. About what happened, what they did to me. She helps. It doesn't make it okay. But it helps."

"I wish it hadn't happened," Steve said. "But I. . . I'm really glad you're here." 

Bucky reached up and slung his arm around his shoulders, tugging him into a hug. "Couldn't let you do it by yourself, could I?" 

Steve caught a flash out of the corner of his eye. Sharon taking a picture, he imagined. Sure enough, she was at the glass when he looked over. She waved cheerfully, and Steve grinned and shook his head. 

"That one is also a keeper," Bucky commented.

"Yeah. Yeah, she is." He turned and looked back at the city. "I was so jealous of you," he found himself saying.

Bucky didn't seem particularly surprised. "I tried not to. . . rub it in your face. I never went looking for her. I never expected-" He broke off and looked out at the city as well. Steve saw his jaw and throat work a moment. "She worried about coming between us. Joked about being the third wheel. Which only made me love her more, because how many women would get us, you know?" He glanced at Steve. "I'm sorry."

"Don't—" He shook his head. "I wanted you to be happy. You've been through way worse than I have."

"Maybe, but at least I can forget most of it. And I never. . . lost you. By the time I really knew who you were I was here, with you, and it was easier. I can't imagine waking up here all alone the way you did."

"I told Sharon once that that was the worst day of my life. The day you fell off the train was a close second, though."

"I guess most of my worst days I don't remember. When Amanda was gone, that was pretty bad. You must have felt like that magnified by a hundred."

That couple of days—and to him it had just been a couple of days—from Bucky falling from the train to waking up from the ice had been really awful. "At least when we found her she didn't try to kill you."

Bucky laughed at that. "Good point, that is a plus."

"I was just done. That day on the helicarrier. With everything. Realized I couldn't kill you, thought I might as well let you kill me."

They'd never really spoken of that day, not even when he'd found Bucky in Russia. "I remember having my fist up, looking down at you, ready to do it. And I had this thought, I'm not even sure where it came from, I guess whatever was left of me inside the Soldier. I thought, 'This must be the first time he ever backed down from a fight.' And I couldn't do it. I knew I'd get punished and wiped again if I didn't kill you. But I couldn't do it."

"That doesn't entirely explain why you fished me out of the river." 

Bucky looked down at his drink a moment. "I dropped into the water, because it seemed safer than riding the carrier down." He was speaking slowly, as if he was working it out for himself for the first time. "I saw you sinking and I thought about what you'd said. They we were friends. That you knew me. I remembered telling Pierce that I knew you and that it had made him hurt me. And, I don't know, I thought if he wanted me to forget it that badly it had to be important. So I started swimming down to get you."

Steve watched him a moment. "Never did properly thank you for saving my life."

"I think we're probably even," Bucky said hoarsely.

Steve bumped his shoulder against Bucky's. "I did introduce you to your wife."

"So you did. And I didn't even break her arm when I met her." He smiled. "It's funny, looking back. She was there in the Trisk when it went down, ran triage in the park I passed on my way out. I could have walked right by her and not noticed her. And she treated Nat when I shot her outside of Odessa. Fate is strange."

"You know, you're why Sharon and I started writing. I was looking for you, and she'd landed at the CIA. Thought she might be able to help. She'd tracked me down because Peggy died. I was pretty pissed about her pretending to be my neighbor, we'd have never spoken again without that connection. During the war we apparently saved the life of the guy Peggy ended up marrying. Now I am, it seems, going to marry her niece. Fate _is_ strange." 

Silence stretched a moment. "You better hurry your ass up. Edie's going to need a friend to play with."

"We still have a thing or two to sort out." He turned to look inside again. She was cutting up more of the cake, and glanced up like she could tell he was looking. "She gives me peace," he said quietly.

"It's very hard to find, for people like us."

"Fate is kind of wonderful, too."

Bucky was watching Amanda with a soft smile on his face. "Yes, it is."

"It's cold out here, let's go get some cake."

Eighteen days later, back in DC, Steve was awakened by a series of text messages. _Amanda in labor. She says it'll be hours still, so no hurry._

_But, you know, maybe head up._

_I'm not freaking out._

_Maybe hurry a little._

And finally, from Amanda, _Oh, just come up so he stops driving me crazy._

He rolled over and poked Sharon. "Hey. It's baby time."

She groaned and rolled over to scowl at the phone he was holding up. "Okay. I'm up." She sat up and ran a hand through her hair "Why are babies never born during the day?"

"I think Ruby was. Though I was busy being unconscious."

"Lucky you." She kissed his cheek and they both got out of bed. He texted Amanda directly to see how long they could dawdle and decided they had time to pack properly and have a good breakfast. Sharon would probably come back after the baby was out to return to work, but he expected to be in New York a few days to help Bucky out.

By the time they reached the hospital in New York the sun was up and Bucky was no longer texting him regularly, which could be good or bad. They did have their room number and made their way to labor and delivery to find Bucky pacing the hallway.

He looked ridiculously relieved when he saw Steve. "You made it."

"How's it coming along?" he asked.

"They put an epidural in about half an hour ago, she's napping. Her contractions were good during the night but they stopped and they gave her something in her IV to try to kick start them. It. . . she was in a lot of pain, hence the epidural. Last time they checked her she hadn't progressed any from when we came in."

Steve knew almost nothing about childbirth, save what he _really_ involuntarily over heard about tearing from Stark when they were building furniture. But lack of progress didn't sound good. "You call anybody else?"

"Her dad is driving up and her sister is working but going to come by in the afternoon," he said, rubbing a hand through his hair. "The guys back at the Tower know but 'Manda wanted privacy. She approved you because I wanted you around." Bucky blew out a breath and looked ill. "Her doctor mentioned a c-section. She wants to wait it out but they're worried because of her age. So. I don't know."

"That stuff is very safe nowadays, it's not like it was back then."

He blew out another breath. "I know. I know. And she said she was just being stubborn and it was okay. I just. . . Can't do anything to help."

"I bet being there is helping. Fetching her things and giving her someone to talk to. Or yell at. If TV is to be believed." Next to him Sharon snorted a little.

"At least she can't hurt your hand when she squeezes it, " she offered. Bucky gave her a little smile at that.

The next few hours were a lot of waiting, with a sense of growing foreboding. She continued to not progress, despite increases in her medication. Eventually, the contraction pain outstripped the epidural and Amanda agreed to a c-section. 

It was after lunchtime by then, and they'd had nothing but vending machine rations since breakfast in DC, which felt an awfully long way away. So once Bucky and Amanda had gone to the OR, Sharon left to bring them all lunch and get some air.

So he was alone in the room about forty minutes later when Bucky came in, flanked by two nurses and a bassinet. There was a flurry of activity that Steve stayed well away from. Then the nurses left and Bucky was holding a tiny bundle in a striped pink blanket.

He stood up. "Hey. Congratulations."

Bucky stepped close so he could see the baby's face. She was sleeping, face scrunched up like she was grumpy about this whole being outside thing. But Steve could already see Bucky in the arch of her brow and Amanda in the curve of her cheek.

When Bucky spoke it was soft, reverent."You remember on my birthday I told you I was still angry about what had happened to me and Amanda helped but didn't make it okay?"

"I remember," he replied, just as quiet.

He took a deep, shaky breath and nodded a little. "This makes it okay."

Something caught in Steve's throat and made it hard to speak. He reached out and squeezed Bucky's shoulder. "She's beautiful," he said finally.

His grin was almost comically wide. "She is, isn't she? You want to hold her?"

"I have never held a baby this tiny before."

"Neither have I. But I trust you not to drop her." He looked back at Edith. "You want to go see Uncle Steve, don't you?"

He held out his arms and Bucky handed him the tiny bundle. She made a small squeaking noise, and stared up at his face. "Hello there." She yawned widely in response. 

"Oh my God, my ovaries." They looked over to find Sharon in the doorway, laden down with take out bags, looking at Steve holding the baby with an absolutely adoring look.

He, too, was now grinning like an idiot. "Hi."

"Hi." She set the bags down and came over to peer at the baby "Hello, Edith. Congratulations, New Dad."

"Thank you," Bucky said. "You can hold her, if you want."

Steve handed her over when Sharon held her arms out. She bounced the baby lightly, cooing at her until Edith's eyes drifted shut. That, he realized, might be the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. They'd have beautiful children, too. Blonde haired and blue-eyed mischievous devils.

Amanda had told him the serum affects weren't genetic. He and Bucky's children would have normal DNA. What they'd been born with. Steve had been small and scrawny and sick. The thought of passing that on threw a splash of ice water on the little fantasy he was building in his head.

Sharon gave the baby back to Bucky and they unpacked the food. Amanda was rolled in just as they were finishing up, looking pale and exhausted but happy once Edith was handed over. Bucky took his turn eating and Steve helped him send text messages out to all interested parties. "Pepper is offering to gate keep for you," he relayed. "Schedule their visits."

"Pepper is a good friend and knows me well," Amanda said. "And has just done this herself recently."

"The crowd at her birth was kind of much," Bucky commented.

"Is there anything at all I can get you guys?" Steve asked.

Amanda sighed. "I'm all right. I think I'm going to gaze at her adoringly in between naps for a while."

Bucky smiled and leaned over to kiss her before settling in the chair at her bedside. "I think that sounds like a plan."

"We will get out of your hair, then," Steve said, reaching his hand out for Sharon's.

She wove her fingers with his as they said their goodbyes and headed out of the room. "I don't know about you," she said when they hit the elevator. "But I could go for a nap."

"A real nap or a 'nap'." He made air quotes.

"I bet we could fit in both before i have to catch my train back to DC."

He leaned against the back wall of the elevator. "I have to say, at the moment I'm glad your birth control is not easy to casually ditch. 'Cause I could very easily be talked into doing so right now."

She laughed. "I was having a little hostage negotiation with my biological clock there. Babies smell so good, it must short circuit something."

He looked over at her, a little more seriously, and said, "Someday."

Something in his tone sobered her quickly and she looked up at him, holding his gaze. The elevatory pinged open behind her and she smiled. "Yes. Someday."


	23. Chapter 23

They did a lot of traveling in the next few weeks, mostly separately. Steve wanted to spend time up in New York to help with his new niece and Sharon had just about run out of good will with her work. She visited on the weekends, leaving right from work of Friday and staying far too late on Sunday. On one particularly busy trip, she was actually dropped off outside of work by the quinjet on the way to a mission. 

Steve was also doubling up on missions, with Bucky on paternity leave. It was to the point Sharon occasionally couldn't remember if he was on or off missions. It was miserable and lonely and completely unsustainable.

Maybe it was time to look at other job opportunities, she thought as she trudged down the hall to her empty apartment. The CIA wasn't the be all and end all of her career choices. If Steve didn't want her to work for the Avengers there were other options. Maybe a security firm or something.

She stopped in front of her door, key lifted, and froze. She listened for a moment, and there was nothing but silence.

It was kind of a trope, or maybe a joke, about when there is someone bad waiting in your apartment, music or television will be turned up loud. A neighbor may comment that you'd left it on, to set the scene. She'd done it to Steve, when Fury was hiding in his apartment all those years ago. Fury had wanted him to come in cautiously and quietly, and not say anything audible to the bugs, but she couldn't very well warn him. So she played the silly, clueless neighbor.

Bad guys didn't really do that. There was no music playing in her apartment. It was the silence that stopped her. Barnabas had learned the sound of her keys coming down the hall long ago, and by the time she reached the door he was camped in front of the door, meowing at her about the dinner he just couldn't wait for. Most days she nearly tripped over him, and joked with Steve his real agenda was to trip her and then use her for food. Barnabas sat there even though usually Steve was home. He didn't seem to trust anything Steve fed him, so they’d stopped trying.

She waited a beat and jingled her keys again. There was no cat at the door.

The smart thing to do was call for back up and wait it out. She had no idea who was in there, thanks to the media proudly announcing where Captain America lived. There were any number of bad guys who could be in there. She should call for back up.

But if Barnabas wasn't at the door, where was he? He could be hurt. He could be dead. He was almost certainly frightened. And that, unfortunately, was enough to get her to do the stupid thing.

She pulled her gun out of her holster and held it against her leg. Then she put the key in the lock and opened the door.

It was still and silent and dark inside. She braced herself for the start of a fight and flicked on the light.  
 The big man sitting in her formerly favorite arm chair, gun trained on the door, was badly scarred, but still recognizable. "Rumlow?"

He grinned, which did nothing for the scars. "Agent 13. Long time no see."

Sharon flexed her fingers around the butt of her gun. "Are you recruiting? Because I think you might have the wrong apartment."

"Nah. I'm an independent contractor these days. But when I saw a job with your name on it, I couldn't resist."

"Someone put a hit on me?" That was worrying. "I'm flattered. No sniping me from a distance?"

"You know, I thought you deserved the personal touch."

His gun hand twitched and she threw her keys at his face, dodging down to the side. His gun fired, making her ears ring, and a hole appeared in her front door. She took her own shot from the floor, but he was already getting up, coming at her. Rolling to dodge his next shot she got close enough to kick his gun away. He responded with a roar, reaching out to grab her wrist and twist.

Her weapon fell from nerveless fingers as she went with the motion of his hand to keep him from breaking her arm. She got her feet under her and pushed, ramming a shoulder into him to knock him off balance.

They grappled, making a mess of her living room. Hopefully one of her neighbors was home and calling the police about now. She got within swatting distance of her weapon once and he bent back two of her fingers before she could grab it. She paid him back with a cracked rib.

He got his arm around her throat, choking her, and she dug her nails in trying to peel him off. "Admit it," she gasped. "This is 'cause I turned you down for drinks that one time."

He laughed, breath ruffling her hair. "Mostly it's for the look on pretty boy's face when he comes home to your fucking corpse."

Oh. Wrong thing to say. Sharon got a foot under her and pushed, rolling them so Rumlow was on his back with her on top. In quick succession she slammed her head back, into his throat, rammed an elbow into his broken rib and a foot into his crotch. He loosened his grip and she launched herself off him, coughing and ran for the kitchen. The kitchen was just full of weapons.

Just as she'd hoped, he staggered to his feet and rushed after her. She caught the handle of the fridge and yanked it open, causing him to run into the door. While he was dazed she whipped the dish towel off the handle and tossed it around his neck, holding both ends. She yanked his head down while bringing a knee up, breaking his nose, then twisted, slamming his head into the counter, knocking him out.

She had zip-ties under her sink, and she secured his hands and feet just in case. He was bleeding all over her floor, and really likely wasn't going to be up any time soon. If at all. But she wasn't taking any chances. By the time she'd finished, she could hear sirens.

Pain was starting to make itself known now that the excitement was over. She leaned on the counter and dug her phone out of her pocket. After a moment's hesitation she pulled up Maria Hill's number. "It's Sharon. I have a situation," she said when the other woman answered.

"What happened?"

"Brock Rumlow just tried to kill me in my apartment." She winced. Her voice sounded like hell from the choking. "He's down, but cops are on their way. They're going to want to take me to the hospital and Rumlow said there's a contract out for me. I'd rather not be out in the open."

"Are you hurt?"

"Beat up." She glanced down at her arm, sluggishly bleeding from a long cut. Must have been from when they'd broken the coffee table. Well, it would match the one on her left arm. "Arm might need some stitches and some fingers need splinting."

"Was this about you or about Steve?"

"I don't know. He said the contract had my name on it, but fucking with Steve was certainly a factor for him personally." She limped a few feet to the couch to sit, breathing hard for a moment. "We didn't do a lot of chatting."

"He's probably not all that fond of you, either. Considering how close to the wire we were, if you hadn't gotten into it with him in the control room, they might have succeeded." Sharon appreciated the compliment, but credit really should go to the tech who'd refused to start the launch, unarmed and clearly aware Rumlow would probably kill him for it. But Hill kept talking before Sharon could respond. "I need to treat this like a CIA thing until we get some evidence otherwise. If Stark thinks Hydra is now officially taking out hits on loved ones he's going to build a moat around the tower and lock Pepper and Ruby in the penthouse."

That was probably true. And he probably wouldn't care or make the distinction that this could have nothing to do with Steve and be all about her. "Okay. I can call my supervisor in to deal with the cops. Can I get a ride to come up there? I'm pretty sure I can sell him on coming to the Tower rather than one of our safe houses here."

"I can do that. The team's in China with the jet, but I can send a helicopter. I assume you'd rather have Doc's people stitch you up?"

"Yes, I would." The sirens were getting close. "Let me call my boss. I'll see you later."

She was still on the phone with her supervisor when the cops arrived. She showed them her badge and explained the situation, including the helo on its way for her. They took pictures and set up guard around Rumlow to wait for her people to show up. She cajoled one of the younger officers into searching for Barnabas and breathed easier once he was found under the bed, scared but unharmed.

Her weekends in New York meant she had a full set of stuff up there, the only thing she needed was to get Barnabas into his carrier. She wasn't leaving him here. The task took three people, including her. Then her people showed up and the questions started all over again.

It was exhausting. Her hand was throbbing and her throat ached worse than when she had strep in fourth grade. Her voice was all but gone by the time her supervisor gave her a ride out to the meeting point Steve used for missions. The helo was waiting for her, much to her relief. 

Amanda herself met her at the Tower, with a wheelchair.

"I'm fine," Sharon protested as the other woman insisted she sit in the chair. She tucked Barnabas's carrier on her lap as they headed for the elevators.

"I'm sure you are, this is just a liability thing." The Doc's tone was less than convincing. "Behave and I'll let you have baby snorgles when your stitches are done.

Okay. That was a pretty good bribe.

"Aren't you supposed to be on maternity leave?" she asked conversationally.

"I am, but this isn't Avenger business, this is me patching up a friend." They rode the elevator up to the Avenger apartment floor and Amanda rolled her into Steve's apartment. "Get settled on the couch, I'll be right back with my stuff.

Sharon stooped to let Barnabas out and eased down on the couch, feeling like an old woman. Amanda returned a moment later with her medical bag, Bucky and Edie trailing behind her. Amanda got to work splinting her fingers and stitching her arm while Bucky asked her about the fight and proceeded to look impressed at her moves.

"Did you call him?" Bucky asked.

"Not yet. Hill said they were in China, I didn't know if he'd be available."

"Better to not worry him." She could see him looking at her neck, so it must be bruised.

She touched it and winced a little. Amanda glanced up from her stitching. "Ice might help and some anti-inflammatories will bring down the swelling."

"How long am I going to sound like a pack an hour smoker?"

"A few days." She tied off the last stitch and taped a long bandage over it. "You can have all the ice cream you want."

Sharon smiled. "That's a plus."

"I can't believe someone put a hit on you," Bucky said.

"I suppose I made some enemies. Either with SHIELD or the CIA."

"You think it's a recent vendetta?"

She shrugged. "No way to be sure. My people were going to see what they could get out of Rumlow." She flinched as Amanda taped her fingers together. "At this point I'm happy to let them deal with it while I hide out here with my man and my cat."

"I suggest going out for dinner to make sure you still can," Amanda said with a smile. She started packing up her things. "Taped up fingers and a bandaged arm. Brings back memories." This time she smiled at Bucky, which made Sharon think she'd missed an in joke.

He chuckled, then said, "Hill will run it down." 

"I have no doubt. Now, I was promised baby snorgles?" Bucky gamely handed Edith over and Sharon tucked her into her good arm, cuddling her to her chest. "And now everything is right with the world."

"If it gets to you too much, we can bring her back covered in poop at 2AM for a reality check," Amanda offered.

She pressed a kiss to Edie's head. "No, I'm good. The IUD is firmly in place. I'm just going to take my oxy rush before going to bed."

"You get bottle pain relief, too." Amanda lined up a few bottles on the coffee table.

After the three of them left, Sharon put on some TV and Barnabas came out of his hiding spot to curl up on her lap. She was contemplating taking her painkillers when the door to the apartment slid open. No one was on the other side and she had just a second to feel alarm before JARVIS said, "I didn't want him to break it," the moment before Steve came through at a jog. Usually he changed downstairs if his gear was dirty, but he hadn't even stopped at the armory to put away his shield.

She struggled to move Barnabas and get up. "I'm fine, I'm fine." That would probably sound better without gravel in her larynx.

"Don't get up," he said. He put the shield on the coffee table—he'd finally gotten a new one— and sat on the couch. His eyes traveled over her. "Hill told me you cleaned his clock."

"I did. There's pictures."

Steve laughed. "And just how much did you enjoy that?"

"It was fun in retrospect." At the time she hadn't had time to feel anything beyond panic and self preservation.

He slid closer and quietly said, "Come here."

Had she been feeling better she would have flung herself into his lap. The best she could manage was an awkward little lunge. She ended up tucked against his chest, which was all she really wanted out of life. He kissed her hair, and rocked her a little. "You really okay?"

She held his arm against her, listening to his heart beat. "It was scary," she admitted softly. "And felt very personal."

"Yeah," he said. "It was like that when they came to kill me, too."

"I'm not used to it. It's always been a job before. Even at the Trisk I sort of. . . there was a greater purpose. Keeping the helicarriers down. This was just. . . he wanted to kill me. Because someone had paid him to do that. And he wanted to hurt you in the process and I-" She clenched her jaw and leaned into Steve a little firmer. "I was afraid he'd hurt Barnabas."

She could feel Steve sigh. "Maybe it's time."

There was no doubt in her mind what he meant. "I think it probably is." She trailed her fingers along his arm. "I was thinking on the way home today that I could expand my job hunt beyond the CIA. Find something else."

"There's a lot of money in private security." He paused. "Just don't go anywhere near the remnants of SHIELD. According to Hill there are factions fighting over territory like Alexander the Great's generals."

"Duly noted." She kissed his jaw. "I used Aunt Peggy's fridge trick."

"Fridge trick?"

"Mmm, developed when fighting in a small New York studio apartment. Get the bad guy into the kitchen with the fridge between you and open the door so he punches the door instead of you. Rumlow took it in the head rather than the fist, though."

"I do enjoy the thought of my girl kicking that guy's ass."

His pride made the jammed fingers almost worth it. "Maybe tomorrow I'll give you a blow by blow. Maybe with diagrams."

"I'd like that." He kissed her hair. "I hate being apart." 

"Me too. I miss sleeping next to you and cooking breakfast together and curling up on the couch at the end of the day."

"Even miss waking up with the cat walking over my face." He sounded very reluctant to admit that.

"And I'm sure Barnabas misses his personal bed warmer." Steve was kind of a furnace. She leaned back to look at him. "We can go back on the weekend to get my stuff. I'll give notice at work."

"I talked to Bucky while I was on the flight from China, he said that he'll go back to work for a week or two so I can come stay down there if you need to actually work your notice period. Though I guess being the CIA, they won't want you to."

"Probably not. And they have to know it's coming." She fiddled with the straps on his uniform. "Bucky and Amanda kept me company for a while. Let me hold Edie. It helped."

She could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. "She does have a way of putting things in perspective, doesn't she?"

"That she does. She's a good baby."

"How are the hostage negotiations going?"

"I think I'm losing her," she admitted. "She's starting to think eighteen-to-life is worth the cooing and new baby smell." If she closed her eyes she could picture their baby. Mop of blonde hair, fists up to take on the world.

He was still a moment, then said, "The serum isn't in my DNA. It's not inheritable. So Amanda says, and I suppose she'd know."

That was probably something she should have asked about earlier. She rested her chin on his shoulder and tried to decide if that changed her mental picture at all. Maybe the fists were a little smaller. She kissed his throat. "Okay."

He shifted to look down at her. "You sure about that? I'm not sure _I'm_ sure about it."

This was the sort of conversation one had face to face, so she leaned back, shifting to sit on the couch so she didn't have to twist. "No one gets a guaranteed healthy baby. One of my nephews was born with a heart defect, had to have surgery at nine days old. I am not with you because you are superior breeding stock. I'm with you because you're smart and brave and kind. All of which came long before the serum. Its not the 1920s anymore. We have access to the best medical care in the world. We'll be fine."

"I wasn't healthy, but I was certainly resilient. I think my mother was told at least half a dozen times by the doctor at various points in my childhood that she should not expect me to survive the night. I've had Last Rights two—no, three times."

She ran her fingers through his hair. "A lot of the things that made you sick then aren't as much of a factor now. _We_ will vaccinate our kids. How many of your health problems were because you were an Irish kid in Brooklyn in the 20s?"

"Bucky grew up three buildings away. Though I was very early and very small when I was born, and my mother wasn't the healthiest." 

"See?" She leaned in and kissed him. "Maybe you're with me for my breeding stock."

"You do seem pretty damn hearty." He studied her face. "I'll ask Amanda about it. See if she has any idea what we might expect. I do worry. . . I don't think a kid that comes out like I was will enjoy having 'Captain America' as a father. Especially in the public eye."

"That would probably be hard," she agreed. "But they will grow up surrounded by smart people who save the world without ever having done a push up. Hopefully, when they're older, they'll see there's more to life than physical." Winding her arms around his neck, she kissed him again. "Also? They could be girls."

"See? This is why I love you."

"Because I want to see you holding girls in frilly dresses?"

"Because you find the bright side of things, and get me out of my head when I need it."

"Ah." She leaned in and rested her forehead on his. "I'm happy to do so. For as long as you want me to."

"I think that might be the rest of my life." 

"Then one of these days you should get around to proposing to me." There. It was out. No more dancing.

He blinked at her. "Well. I can't do it _now_."

She laughed. "No, I know. You'll do it the old fashioned way. But when you do get around to it, I can assure you a positive response."

He grinned. "I know that, too."

"Good." She kissed him again and sighed. "Now. I'd like to go to bed. It's been a day."

"Shall I carry you?" he asked. "And then maybe shower."

She slid her arm around his shoulders. "Just this once."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At one point during the writing of this story, while trying to figure out how to start wrapping everything up, I turned to Olives and said, "I have a burning need to have Sharon beat the shit out of a bad guy the way Peggy did in the Agent Carter pilot." And she agreed. And this chapter was born.


	24. Chapter 24

Sharon had stirred when Steve got up to go for his morning run, and taken her painkillers, so she was out cold when he got back. He left her to sleep and made himself some breakfast. "Hey, JARVIS, are Bucky and Amanda up?"

"Since Miss Edith's birth there has only been a combined total of eight hours and four minutes where one or both of them was not awake. Shall I inquire if they are taking visitors?"

"That might be a polite question, yes."

There was a pause of less than a minute, then, "The would welcome another adult to talk to."

Sometimes living here could be _very_ convenient. "When Sharon wakes up, tell her where I am?"

"Yes, Captain."

The door to Bucky's apartment slid open when he reached it. Inside, Bucky was pacing behind the couch, bouncing a fussy Edith while Amanda ate what looked like fried eggs and toast on the couch. Every few paces she held up a forkful for Bucky to eat.

"Good morning, Steve," Amanda said. "It is morning, isn't it?"

"It is. Rough night?"

"Colic isn't supposed to start until six weeks, but unfortunately, the baby did not read the book,"

"You want me to take her so you can eat?" he asked Bucky.

In response he paced around the couch and deposited Edith in Steve's arms before flopping onto the couch next to Amanda and stealing her plate.

She kissed his cheek and leaned on his shoulder. "What can we do for you, Steve?"

He shifted Edith, and she let out a burp that would do a trucker proud, and settled against his chest. He looked down at her little head and murmured, "I see what Sharon means."

"I was kind of expecting her to come over last night and ask me to remove her IUD," Amanda said.

"Don't make any decisions until you've had multiple bodily fluids on you," Bucky muttered around a mouthful of egg.

"I live under public expectations and media scrutiny that I don't think would tolerate Stark and Pepper's disinterest nor your delay in getting married before procreating." 

"Steve, we're really sleep deprived," Bucky said. "No riddles. Are you trying to figure out how to marry Sharon?"

"Sorry. I actually don't need assistance with that part. I just meant we're going to aim for doing things in the 'correct' order. I can't tell you how much I do not want to see the words 'Captain America's Love Child' printed anywhere."

Bucky's brows went up. "Oh, I would pay so much money to see that." He looked at Amanda. "How much money do we have?"

Steve rolled his eyes, and came around to sit in one of their chairs since the baby had fallen asleep. "I have a serious question and a slightly less serious question."

"Go ahead," Amanda told him. "I'll kick him if he speaks again."

"How likely is it my kids will come out like I was?"

He could see Bucky stiffen up and glower, ready to defend Steve from anything, even himself. Amanda looked thoughtful, head tilted. "Your pre serum medical records are lengthy but very much a product of your time. I remember one of your enlistment forms included 'nervous trouble of any sort.' I would have to go review it to see how much was environmental. You were a premie, weren't you?" He nodded. "Your heart and lung trouble is most likely related to that. Your mother and father both had outside factors involved in their early deaths. It's entirely possible you'll have a perfectly normal, average child."

"I had rheumatic fever, they thought that caused the worst of the heart problems. But my lungs were always bad."

"Lungs are one of the last things to develop, as the fetus 'breathes' the embryonic fluid in the womb. Most premature babies have lung problems." She was starting to get what Bucky called "guest lecturer voice." "Most of what was wrong with you was environmental. Close quarters, poor nutrition in your adolescence from the depression."

"I got sick from a lot of the things you did," Bucky said. "It just never hit me as hard."

Amanda gestured at him like he'd proved her point. "Your baby will have excellent prenatal care. To my knowledge, Sharon's family doesn't have any history of pregnancy issues. I understand why you'd be nervous, but my professional opinion is you shouldn't worry. I wouldn't even expect them to be small. This-" Now she gestured at Steve. "Is what Erskine called your 'ideal potential.' Had you been born and raised in ideal circumstances you would likely have looked something like this. Your children will be born and raised in such circumstances."

"I didn't know that," Steve said.

"She got into it to try and figure out why I didn't put on ten inches and a hundred pounds," Bucky said. "They've done a lot of studies on the effects of childhood malnutrition." For some reason, that made Steve smile. Doc was rubbing off on him. "It's why everyone is taller now than they were a hundred years ago. People eat better, so grow to the top height they're capable of. I know you guys had some rough times when you were a kid. On top of being three pounds when you were born."

Amanda looked from one to the other. "Did you say _three_?"

Bucky scooped up more eggs. "He slept in a shoebox."

"The things your memory chooses to resurrect never cease to amaze me," Steve said. "And it was a hat box."

"That would be. . . How on earth did you survive without a NICU?"

"His mom was a nurse," Bucky mumbled, reaching across her for the coffee cup on the end table.

Amanda was still gaping. "Good Lord."

"Steve does not back down from a fight, and apparently he was born like that," Bucky said.

"My mother said it was a warm summer," Steve said. "They told her I wouldn't live the night. She bundled me up in her shirtwaist. I think she didn't want me to be alone." He thought about his mother for a moment. He wondered if she'd like Sharon. 

"It's a good instinct, likely saved your life," Amanda told him. "Skin to skin contact with the mother helps premies regulate their heart beat and respiration.You know you're drinking my tea, right?" she added to Bucky.

"There's caffeine in it, I'm making do."

She shook her head and looked back at Steve. "Have I sufficiently reassured you?"

"Yes," he said. And he honestly did feel better about it. "Thank you."

"Good. What was the second question?"

"I need to buy an engagement ring without getting noticed."

Bucky broke out into a wide grin. "Finally."

"Yes, well. You can't actually be surprised."

"Don't have to be surprised to be delighted."

"If you go to a jewelry store someone will spot you," Amanda said. "Have Stark bring a couple jewelers here with 'samples' and choose from that. Like they do at the Oscars."

"Can I trust Stark with that sort of secret?"

"Stark likes messing with the press," Bucky offered.

"Rope Pepper in. She'll be able to coordinate things quietly and get Sharon out of the way."

Pepper could be discreet. He inclined his head. "You two are helpful as ever."

"And that's with no sleep," Bucky said brightly.

He stood up, careful of the baby he was still holding. "She's asleep, can I put her in her crib?"

"You can try," they said in almost unison. That didn't bode well, but he carried Edith back to her room and settled her in the little floating pod Stark had built. She didn't cry, so he backed very slowly out of the room.

Bucky and Amanda were visibly surprised when he came back empty handed. "Oh, thank you, now we can sleep," she said, getting to her feet.

"Anytime," he said with a grin.

She hauled Bucky up too. "Goodnight, Steve. Congratulations on your impending engagement."

He thanked them, and went back to his apartment. He could hear the water running in the shower and poked his head in to tell Sharon he was back. He could see the blurry outline of her body through the frosted shower door and found himself enjoying the view for a moment.

"How were the Barneses?" she asked over the roar of the water.

"Good. Amanda thinks the kids will be normal."

The water went off and the door opened to reveal her in all her naked - if bruised - glory. "You were really worried about that, weren't you?" she asked, reaching for her towel.

"It's surprisingly not fun to be constantly sick and frequently beat up. Hard thing to curse one’s children with."

She didn't answer immediately, bending to dry off her legs. "I was going to argue that they might not necessarily get beat up but remembered it would be our kid and totally get into fights." She tucked the towel around her body and went on tiptoe to kiss him. "I'm glad Amanda made you feel better."

He found the bottom edge of the towel and touched her damp skin. "How are you feeling?"

Her lids fluttered. "Much better, actually. It's mostly just my fingers and throat that still hurt."

Slowly he inched up the towel hem. "I can work with that."

She grinned, swaying into him. "Oh, good. I was afraid I'd have to convince you."

He gave the towel a tug and she let it fall. "I've heard it's an excellent way to relax after a fight."

"It's a natural pain reliever, too," she told him. Her hands slid under the bottom edge of his shirt and he lifted his arms so she could tug it up and off. Then she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. 

They just kissed for a while, and then he gently lifted her up. "Your wounds do call for the bed."

"Much as I enjoy breaking things, bed is probably a good idea." She pressed a kiss to his throat as he carried her back to the bedroom. "I don't want something to twinge and ruin our morning."

He set her down on the bed and caged her there with his arms. "Then you lay back and let me do all the work."

Her skin flushed and she grinned again, lifting a hand to stroke it over his chest. "I do deserve some pampering, don't I?"

"Yes." He took her arms one at a time and set them on the pillow over her head. To keep them out of the way and from causing her accidental pain. But he could tell by the way she shivered she was remembering the night he pinned her to the floor. Then he began his slow journey kissing his way across her skin.

She shifted and arched under him, keeping contact with his mouth as long as she could. Her arms stayed exactly where he'd put them, even when he took a nipple in his mouth and her whole body shuddered. He moved to the other breast and got the same reaction. He kissed her ribs and her belly and her thighs. She lifted and bowed, but she still didn't move her arms.

He could hear her panting hard when he nudged her thighs apart and kissed her center. She gasped out his name, back arching, arms pressing down into her pillow. He loved that she wasn't quiet. That he could tell what she liked. That she cried out for him. Normally she'd dig her hands into his hair or his shoulders. Now she was following his instructions not to, but the restraint was clearly tormenting her.

Instead, she curled one leg over his shoulder and dug her heel into his back as he licked and sucked at her. He zeroed in on her clit and she started to moan, then cry out. Her foot dug into his back, holding him close to her. After a moment he felt her shudder and she began to pulse against his mouth.

He kissed his way back up her, all the way to her mouth. "Clever, you are," he murmured.

She sucked his lower lip, tugging with her teeth. "I've always been resourceful."

He hitched on of her legs up, wrapping it over his hip so he could slide inside her. "I adore you."

For a moment, she didn't respond, eyes closing and head tipping back as he filled her. Her fingers curled into fists but didn't budge from the pillow. Finally, she whispered, "You too." He kissed her, and they were quiet then, the only sounds sighs and gasps as they moved together.

When her movements began to grow more urgent and erratic he reached up and covered her arms with his, weaving their fingers together. He was careful not to let himself lose control, but she seemed to like the contact. Her fingers tightened on his. "Steve. Steve."

He kissed her jaw, her throat. "That's it, baby," he whispered.

She whimpered and her hips snapped up to him, Her hands tightened on his as she began to shake again. Her body clenched around him in rough waves as she rode out her pleasure. He closed his eyes and let it rush through him. All his days he would never get tired of this, of her.

Slowly he released her hands and she finally moved her arms, wrapping them around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck. He sighed, slowly sinking into her. "Mmm. I miss this."

"God, so have I," she whispered. She stroked his hair. "I love you."

He rolled off her and tucked her very carefully against his side. "I love you. I'm sorry how this all went down."

"It's all right. It'll be a funny story to tell the hypothetical kids."

He chuckled. "How old should they be before they're ready to hear about the time someone took a hit out on Mommy?"

"Before they learn about tax law but after where babies come from."

He kissed her temple. "You want some breakfast?"

"I'd love some. Then I should call my boss and quit."

"I'm going to try not to apologize for that too much."

She sighed and curled close to him, skin to skin. "It's just as well. Soon or later I'd be on assignment and someone would say 'Hey aren't you Captain America's girlfriend?' and I'd punch them and get in trouble."

He grinned. "I'd be sad I missed that."

"I'm sure someone would get it on their phone."

She snuggled against him, and he briefly considered a second round. But he was pretty hungry. And they had time. So he kissed her, gave her ass a smack and then disentangled them to get out of bed. "Food."

With a yawn and a stretch, she roll out of the other side of the bed. "Yes, dear."

*

Sharon's boss seemed to expect her resignation. She gave notice on her apartment and the complex manager testily told her she could expect a bill for damages. She made arrangements for a truck rental to move her belongings from DC to New York. She spent the rest of the morning calling and filling a million change-of-address forms.

In the afternoon, JARVIS told her that Maria Hill would like to see her in her office, at Sharon's earliest convenience.

Steve had gone out with Bucky for "man time." Which she strongly suspected was going to end in buying baby clothes, but who was she to judge. She hoped this was not a job offer. They'd had enough hits recently without having to negotiate whether or not he was willing to let her be on the team.

Maria Hill's office was one of the highest floors before the residential apartments. It had plush furnishings, a huge, imposing desk and a view of the city that seemed to go on forever. "I feel like I've been brought to the headmistress' office," Sharon commented as she sank into the guest chair.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment." She had a file on her desk that she flipped open. "You'll be happy to know that you earned your own hit."

"I actually am a little proud. Means I'm doing something right."

"Now, they did _find_ you because of the publicity. Whether or not Steve ever needs to know that I leave up to you."  
 Sharon rubbed her arm idly. "Pretty sure he figured it out."

"In any case, the contract has been rescinded, so don't have to worry about being plagued by random spontaneous death matches while you're just trying to go out and get a latte."

"That's reassuring. I'd go bankrupt paying for damages pretty quickly."

"I didn't want them to go, and while I hate admitting I was wrong, but Barnes and Barton's hunting trip seems to have put the fear of God into the, er, community of people who participate in contract killings. Putting out a friendly reminder that I have three of the best assassins in the world on my payroll clearly did the trick. You're not a high enough value target to make it worth their while."

This might have been good information to have before she'd quit her job. But that was probably coming whether she liked it or not. At least this way she'd had some control over it. "I will think of you every time no one tries to stab me. And I imagine living here full time will discourage further attacks even if anyone doesn't get the memo."

Hill leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. "I gotta tell you, I am getting tired of being surprised."

"If it helps, you play omniscient really well. What did I do to surprise you?"

"Not you personally. But the fact that there was a contract out on one of ours and we didn't know about it until the hit was actually attempted is just the most recent reminder of the gaping holes in our intel. Our people handling that do the best they can, and Romanov has a lot of resources in certain areas. But we have blind spots. The kind we never had at SHIELD. Because we're private, and some things require governmental and military cooperation."

"Don't you have their cooperation?" Sharon asked. "The attitude at the CIA was generally positive. I was very popular when it came out I not only dated Captain America but tagged along on the Oman mission."

"We have cooperation. Mostly. But it is slow, and occasionally like pulling teeth. Or, like hostage negotiations. Nobody wants to reveal too much, us or them, but nobody wants to leave anything out that could get someone killed. It's exhausting. So I've come around to the idea that we need a liaison. Someone to manage the sharing of intel who doesn't also have a day job."

And suddenly the real purpose of the meeting was clear. Still, she knew Hill well enough to play along. "Did you need my help working up a job description?"

"HR will probably want that. The candidate list is remarkably short, though."

"Is it one name?"

Hill seemed to be fighting a smile. "HR will probably want me to dig up a second one for some sort of legal reason."

Sharon went ahead and grinned. "I'll get you my resume tonight."

Hill nodded and tapped on her keyboard. "We will need to wait until the first of June," she said.

Some time off to heal and settle in would be nice. "Any particular reason?"

She typed a little more. "That's what I negotiated with Mulvaney at the CIA during my first recruitment phase. I didn't want to burn any bridges, so I made some courtesy calls. I agreed to 36 months before I could poach you."

She grinned again. "I feel very loved, Agent Hill."

"Fury didn't trust all that many people. I wouldn't have mentioned it, honestly, but I don't want to have a drunk conversation six months from now during one of the girl's nights in which I have to convince you I didn't just make up a job for you as a favor to Steve."

"Considering it's an interesting job within my skill set I'm sort of okay with that."

Hill laughed. "Well all right, then." The lights in Hill's office flickered and she looked up, making a noise in the back of her throat that Sharon remembered from her SHIELD days. You really did not want to make Hill make that noise. "You sure you want to work here? The CIA probably doesn't have mad scientists in the basement building things that might blow up."

"That's true. But their dental plan is shit. Plus I need a place to live."

"You missed this year's apartment lottery." She leaned over and hit a button on her desk phone, and then dialed.

The voice on that picked up was familiar, though she couldn't quite place it, and answered with, "I can't do anything about the lights."

"I know who to yell at about that," Hill replied. "I need a new level A employee set up." She looked over at Sharon. "How technologically competent are you?"

"Proficient. Though it's mostly graphic editing. I can update my own OS and such."

"Levels A's are custom anyway," came the reply from the speakerphone. She recognized the voice as Darcy's boyfriend, Cal. He did something with tech support. "I can do 4:30 today, assuming the building doesn't get blown up."

"Always assuming." HIll looked at Sharon. "4:30 work for you?"

"I don't have any other plans."

"I'll be up at 4:30, then," Cal replied. He didn't ask who or where, but then perhaps he recognized her voice. "I know the noise it makes annoys you," he said, apparently to Hill. "But turn on the back-up battery under your desk until test phases are done. Else I'll need to reserve the right to point and laugh while doing data retrieval." 

Hill made that noise again but said, "Fine," before hanging up and peering under her desk to do as he'd said.

"So dealing with HR will be literally just a formality?" Sharon asked when the other woman had popped back up.

"Cal doesn't tattle," she replied. "He'll probably need to order things, anyway, so you can hit the ground running. I like to be prepared."

"I've heard that about you." Sharon braced her hands on the arms of her chair. "I'll go update my resume, then."

She nodded, and waved her hand while picking up her phone. That was about all the goodbye you ever got from Hill back in the SHIELD days, too. Sharon made her way to the elevator, pulling out her phone to text Steve. _You still out?_

 _I am. We went to a movie and Bucky fell asleep. He's still out, I may need to go buy tickets to the next show._

She chuckled. _Maybe I'll see if any of the girls want to get lunch. You want to meet for dinner somewhere? I can help Amanda mobilize the baby._

_Sounds good._

Scrolling through her phone for Jane Foster's number she realized that this was her life now. Meetings with Maria Hill and, apparently, government agencies. Planning lunch with astrophysicists and helping biomedical geniuses wrangle babies for dinner with their superhero partners. She was a denizen of the Tower, now. Where the lights flickered and the building rumbled.

Grinning, she dialed Jane and leaned on the wall by the elevator.


	25. Chapter 25

Steve sat through a second showing of the same movie. Amusingly, Bucky woke up in the middle and was unaware that he'd been out for more than a few minutes. He didn't want to go home for a nap, but he did let Steve get some food and coffee in him. 

He remembered to turn his phone back on in the restaurant to a mess of texts. Hill, informing him the hit on Sharon was officially canceled—which he already knew. An auto notification of a building emergency from JARVIS. Stark telling him to ignore it. Natasha telling him to ignore Stark and come back. The two of them arguing over whether they did or did not need Steve and Bucky to come back. Both of them then texting him never mind. Sharon telling him whatever what "it" was was now over, not to worry. Amanda telling him to tell Bucky the she and the baby were fine. Hill asking him if he had the authority to fire Stark. 

He glanced up at Bucky, who was making faces at his phone. "Sometimes, man, I miss the '40's."

"Tell me about it. When did the building start exploding just because we left it?"

"When we started living with mad scientists, that's when."

"I suppose Stark and Banner don't blow things up anymore than Howard did." Bucky rubbed his eyes and tucked his phone away. "Amanda says we're meeting for dinner?"

"Sharon said she'd help wrangle the baby. So we've got some time to kill."

"Right. At least the coffee is starting to hit." He grinned. "Sleeping in the theater. I _am_ an old man."

"No, you're just a good Dad."

The grin got wider, somehow. "Amanda says the same thing. I never knew getting a baby to sleep and stay asleep would feel like such a triumph."

Steve stirred his coffee. "Worth it?"

"Absolutely. Though I am greatly looking forward to her sleeping through the night."

"I hope the press isn't as interested in my children as they are in Sharon and I."

Bucky lifted a brow. "They will be, you know. Captain America reproducing? That's gonna be a thing."

"Yeah. Natasha told me one of 'em was stalking Ruby and her not-a-nanny in the park so much they had to call the cops." A few months back Stark had finally agreed to hire someone—who was absolutely not a nanny, yet lived in the Tower and cared for Ruby full time. The way Stark bent reality sometimes really amused him. Ruby also had a bodyguard, who handled said harassing reporter. But the idea of his kids having to have a _bodyguard_ kind of horrified him.

"Stark said the guard just had to twist the guy's arm a bit and he was blubbering like a baby. At least if Sharon's going out with your kids she can beat people up on her own."

"Sam and Sharon have both told me they think the media is obsessed with us because I'm mysterious."

"You are mysterious." He shrugged when Steve looked at him. "You are. From their perspective, okay? You were a war hero, you were supposed to be dead, then you came back to life. You took out the government organization you worked for. And now you're dating the grand-niece of your famous long-lost love and you refuse to even make a statement about any of it. You're like four different best selling novels and you won't give them a paragraph."

"You think I should give them what they want?"

"On your terms, yeah. If you let them see how boring you are they'll move on. Control the message like a movie star, decide who gets your info and at what cost and the media will fall in line to be on your good side. So they get the next scoop or the next batch of pictures you release."

"Sam thinks I should do an interview about it."

Bucky sipped his coffee. "Sam's a smart guy."

"Pepper told me I should do a print interview. Sam was talking about a full on TV interview. Do people really want to watch me talk on TV?"

"Well _I_ do but only because it would be hilarious, but you should go with what Pepper or her PR people say."

"I don't know. It's one thing to go do the Dancing Monkey routine on the the morning shows. They'd actually want me to talk about me."

Bucky sighed. "I sympathize. I really do. But no one says you have to be Stark. Everyone has to do something with the press. Nat does PR all the time. Jane's been on the cover of science journals. Hell, if Amanda's study goes the way it's supposed to she'll be doing interviews and lectures and God knows what else. Like it or not, you're famous. And that means something a lot different than it did when we were younger."

"I do PR. Captain America does appearances. Steve Rogers does not." And Steve was who they wanted to talk to. "I'll think about it."

Three hours later the two of them wrestled Edith's stroller between the small outdoor tables of the restaurant across the street from Grand Central. It had one of the best views of Stark Tower and had been utterly trashed during the Battle of New York. They had good pastrami and he'd acquired a habit of eating down there in the early days. It was a good place to sit and sketch. Eventually, the owners put up a sign that declared it to be Captain America's Favorite Restaurant. He could make a stink if he wanted—he guarded his image these days—but he kind of liked how a table always materialized for him, no matter the crowd. Even if he showed up with four people and crying baby.

Sharon handed the gear she was carrying to Bucky and stretched up to kiss Steve. "Hi. How was boy's day out?"

"Far less manly than you'd expect." He held out a chair for her. "What have you been up to today?"

"Gave notice on my apartment, hired movers, quit and found a new job." She rattled it off in one breath as she slid into the chair he offered.

"You might be the most efficient woman I've ever known." Which was one of the many reasons he adored her. "Where are you working?"

"Stark," she told him with a grin.

He opened his mouth and closed it again, not entirely sure what to say. She looked really happy about it. He probably should be happy for her. He rotated through a number of things to say, from pasting on his USO smile and saying congratulations, to demanding she tell him whether it was Stark or Hill who'd offered her a job without so much as running it by him. Natasha coordinated any covert operations they fielded, surely at least she would have _mentioned—_

Steve cut off the thought, because he remained a terrible liar and noticed that she had clearly seen that internal dialogue written on his face. 

He still had no idea what to say.

She propped her chin on one hand. "You're trying so hard to be happy for me, it's adorable. Desk job, Steve. Not in the field. Hill needs someone to coordinate information with government agencies. Figured with my CIA background I'd have a leg up on it."

"Are you going to be happy doing that?" He did want her to be happy.

"I think so, yeah. It's in my skill set and I'll feel useful."

"I feel guilty that I'm happy you're not going into the field. I mean, I am happy. But there's also guilt."

"Steve," Bucky said from across the table before Sharon could answer. "I'm going to buy you a hairshirt."

"Very funny."

"Seriously, man, there is nothing wrong with not wanting your loved one putting her life in danger as part of her job." He dumped what looked to be about six packets of sugar in his coffee. "I don't know how Barton does it. Well. I think he's a little bit of a masochist and it's part of their shtick. Doesn't mean there's anything wrong with either of us. I'd get an ulcer."

It was more complicated than that, but he appreciated the support.

"I maintain the caveat that if there is a mission I would be useful on I will want to go," Sharon said. "But I'm not going to get a dangerous job just to prove I can. This is a job I can do and be good at and it doesn't make you nervous so I'm happy with it."

"Maybe Stark will make you a suit like the one he claims to be making me," Amanda said. "If you do come out with us."

"Your suit is because he likes an engineering challenge," Steve said. "Or he's just really, really fond of you."

"It's probably a little of both. Congratulations, Sharon, by the way. Welcome to the madhouse."

Steve reached out and slid his hand into hers. "Thank you."

Sharon leaned over and kissed him again. "I love you."

They ordered food, and it wasn't until after it showed up that Steve said, "I'm thinking of doing an interview."

Amanda reached over and put her hand on his head as if checking for fever. Sharon had frozen with a forkful of salmon halfway to her mouth. "You _are_?"

He tried to read her expression. "Not if you don't want me to, of course."

She shook her head sharply. "No, no. I actually think it's a good idea. I'm just surprised."

"All of the people I trust seem to think it's a good idea, so. . . I'm considering it."

"Well, if you decide to do it, I'll support you. I'll even come along, if you want."

"I might." He reached out. "Answering personal questions for the record sounds really unpleasant."

"Having dined with the wives club I'm well used to it." 

Amanda snorted, coughing on the sip of tea she'd just taken. "If they ask you questions like we do then you should rethink who you're letting interview you."

"You'd be surprised," Sharon said. "Time magazine once asked Jane what Thor looked like without a shirt."

"People ask Nat about her outfit all the time," Bucky said. "It pisses Barton off and I hear about it. I think they ask women dumber questions than men."

"Yes," Amanda said. "I greatly look forward to the interviews about my revolutionary scientific breakthrough somehow becoming about 'the life of a superhero's girl' or what Stark's current blood pressure is."

"They will probably ask me about my outfit, too." Steve offered.

"Ask Nat for tips," Bucky told him. "Someone once wanted to know if she wore underwear."

"I am _not_ answering if they ask me about the thong," he muttered, and Sharon choked on her drink. He reached over and patted her back while she coughed.

"Is it for comfort or support?" Bucky asked, which made Sharon cough harder.

"Don't kill her, honey, I don't have my med pack with me." Amanda waited until Sharon had calmed. "I would suggest talking to Pepper and Stark's publicist. They'll help you arrange a good venue and get question approval."

"Setting the record straight might be a good thing," Steve said. "Maybe this is the best way to do it."

"We are charming and likable," Sharon said, sipping more soda cautiously.

Steve leaned over and kissed her temple. "You may get more crap from your family. If I say something they don't like."

"I know. At least this time I can warn them it's coming. And maybe they'll be happy we're trying to do something to help."

"I can probably refuse certain questions, but I'm not going to lie."

"I suppose I could just tell Aunt Lilly not to watch," she mused. "Or, alternatively, tell her daughter to record her reaction to it."

"Try not to shatter my legacy while you're at it," Bucky said with a grin.

"Oh, shut up," he replied. Up the street, someone had been taking pictures from the sidewalk. He'd been ignoring it, because it was a gorgeous summer day and he couldn't imagine what was so interesting about their meal. The photographer had crept closer, and when Steve looked up he was on the other side of the rail that marked the cafe's seating area, close enough he could probably hear their conversation.

Steve glared at the man, trying to decide what he could possibly say to get rid of him without making an awful soundbite that wouldn't die.

For his part, Bucky leaned over and crooked his finger at the photographer, beckoning him closer. When he got within arm's reach of their table, he reached out as casually as anything, and crushed the camera's lens with his metal hand.

The photographer made a thin, high-pitched noise, staring at his destroyed lens.

"That was probably a thousand dollar lens," Sharon said conversationally, stabbing another bite of salmon.

"Well, he should have taken better care of it." Bucky dropped his handful of plastic and glass onto the ground.

"Buck, I think your legacy is in fine shape, there."

"Sometimes you still need looking after," he replied, picking up his burger again. He took a bite and looked over at the photographer, who was still standing there. "If I have to get up, it'll be bone next time," he said around his mouthful. Steve could see Amanda kick him under the table.

They pointedly ignored the guy until he slunk away, tail between his legs. When he was out of earshot Amanda leaned in and whispered, "That was kind of hot."

"I have to agree," Sharon said and the ladies clinked their glasses together.

"I told you someday we'd have a successful double date," Bucky said. "Only took 80 years."

That made Steve laugh. He leaned back and draped an arm over the back of Sharon's chair. He supposed, in a slow and roundabout way, fate had given him back something very much like the life he'd thought he'd lost. "What we were missing was the the baby, I think."

"Having one of them legally and emotionally tied to me does help." Bucky appeared to dodge Amanda's kick this time. "I love you, sweetheart," he teased, kissing her cheek.

"I haven't mailed in the name change request yet, you know." But she smiled and titled her face so he could kiss her easier.

"You two are occasionally adorable," Sharon told them.

Steve stroked the back of her neck with his fingertips, lightly and gently. She glanced over at him and smiled, then went back to eating her dinner. Bucky and Amanda were joking about her name change and if he was going to get mail addressed to Dr. and Mrs. Barnes. Edith was sticking her tiny toes out from under the muslin blanket covering her. The June heat was finally giving way to the approaching evening, and the sun was starting to set.

Fate might be strange, but it was also kind.

*

The idea for Steve's interview had started as a sort of a puff piece, something that would answer questions for the gossipy lowest-common-denominator. Something to help him manage his image like a movie star.

But Steve was never one to do anything halfway. Sharon probably wouldn't love him quite the same if he was. What eventually materialized was an hour-long special with one of the country's most respected news anchors. The man had originally earned his fame because he'd been doing a filler segment about the history of Grand Central when Loki opened the portal behind him, right in frame. He reported the whole battle, right on the ground.

Sharon thought it had a certain symmetry to it.

He didn't wear the suit. He answered a few questions about her and a lot of them about taking down SHIELD, about Hydra and the war. About the Avengers, the Commandos, and the SSR. He told a story about Peggy she'd never heard that would probably rile Aunt Lily and make her father laugh. He talked about his childhood, being poor and being sick. How before inhalers asthma made every game of tag as dangerous as jumping out of airplanes—which explained a lot about Steve's lassez faire attitude about parachutes. He even made space for his soapbox about people not getting their children their vaccines. 

Sharon stood near one of the cameras—at Steve's request—and watched the entire thing.

Admittedly, she was rather biased, but she thought he came across well. Friendly, humble, proud of his friends and accomplishments and perhaps a little melancholy at the price of freedom and what had been done in the name of peace.

Best of all, he came across as _real_. He was no longer the untouchable historical icon from the history books. He was Steve Rogers, a guy from Brooklyn, with a war chest of stories both funny and sad. He was the man she'd fallen in love with and for once he was letting the rest of the world see it.

When it ended and they turned the cameras off, he had to stop for a moment while they took his mic off. Then he came over to her and stopped a foot in front of her. He looked just a little exhausted. "How'd I do?"

Oddly choked up, she said, "You were wonderful," and held her arms out for him. He almost fell into them, holding her against his chest and pressing his face into her hair. She rubbed his back, reaching up to dig into the tight muscles of his neck. "You did a great job," she told him quietly. 

He straightened and sighed, kissing her forehead. "Thank you." She knew it was for more than just the compliment.

"Anytime." She tucked her arm into his. "Shall we go?"

He grinned, his whole face changing. "Yes. I made us dinner reservations."

"Really?" He'd probably known he'd need some sort of unwinding after the interview. Still, she was surprised he wanted to do it out rather than in their apartment.

"Yes, really. Sadly, it's a little too warm for the ice-rink, but I thought since we were here we should do something." The TV studio was in Rockafellar Center. On the way in they debated and decided that in retrospect, yes, the day they came here was, in fact, their second date.

She was beaming, she could tell. "I'm intrigued. What did you have in mind?"

He gave her a smacking kiss. "I told you, we have dinner reservations." He turned her by the shoulders. "There's a dress in the green room for you. I hope you trust Amanda's tastes." He looked at his watch. "You have 26 minutes."

Apparently, they were on a schedule. He nudged her and she made her way back to the green room where there was a garment bag and small shopping bag. The dress was a beautiful blue, fluttery and feminine. The shopping bag held heels, jewelry and an assortment of make-up. 

As she slipped the dress on and spruced up her makeup she realized that this had to have taken a great deal of planning. More than just calling up a restaurant for a reservation. This had required recon of her sizes and make-up preferences. And sending a woman with a newborn out to shop for her. This was planned the way attacks on Hydra were planned.

She slid on her shoes and gave herself a once over in the mirror. Definitely looked ready for a date with her captain.

He was loitering outside the door when she emerged, wearing a gray suit and clean of his TV makeup. His hair looked a little damp and she guessed he must have showered, though she couldn't fathom where. That man could get ready for a polar expedition in 5 minutes flat.

When she reached him he held his hand out and she took it, weaving their fingers, reaching up to smooth her other hand over the lapel of his suit. "This is nice."

"It's apparently really expensive. Stark gets many of his suits from this one Italian guy who is, according to him, the best tailor in the world. He just flies around, making bespoke suits for rich people. He was in New York and Stark insisted on getting everyone a suit. I'm a little afraid to wear it where there will be food and wine."

"Hopefully your reflexes will take over and save it in the case of a spill."

He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

She slid her arm into his and he lead her out of the studio towards the other end of the Center towards the restaurant. To her surprise, they headed for the elevator outside the restaurant, up to the private room and roof garden.

She'd never been up there, but she'd seen pictures, usually of it decorated for events. It was a popular wedding venue, actually. It faced St. Patricks Cathedral and was surrounded by brightly lit skyscrapers that were tall enough to provide protection from wind, and the sounds of the city. Tonight the little grassy lawn was lined with potted trees filled with Christmas lights. At the end of the roof garden was a little reflecting pool and fountain, currently with floating flowers and lights. Between the lawn and the pool was a single table with linens, and two chairs.

Mouth open in shock, she took in everything before turning to Steve. "You did all of this just for us?"

He grinned at her. "Sort of. There was an event here earlier, I arranged for some of their decorations to stay. Yes would have been a more romantic answer, but I've been told I'm a terrible liar."

"You are." She stretched up to kiss him. "I love it anyway. It's very romantic."

"I'm glad you like it," he said. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving." They'd barely eaten breakfast in their rush to get to the studio in time. He grinned at her enthusiasm and put a hand on her back, leading her over to the table. Of course he held her chair out for her before sinking into his.

A waiter materialized from somewhere, setting down two salads and pouring them some wine. Steve tipped back his head to look at the the city around them. "Nice night, isn't it?"

"It is." She took a deep breath of the warm air. "It's going to be your birthday soon."

"Stark's balcony is a great place to watch fireworks," he replied.

He munched his salad and she watched him. She'd strongly suspected when she realized he'd sent Amanda to get her a dress. Suspicion had become certainty when she'd gotten off the elevator. She knew why she was up here. And yet he was remarkably relaxed and casual. Of course, he'd always kind of had nerves of steel. 

Well, nothing to do but relax and go with the flow. If she spent the whole dinner anticipating it would take the fun out of it. "I'm surprised he doesn't set them off himself. Ninety-nine of them, maybe."

"Jesus, do not give him ideas."

"I won't," she said solemnly. "I'll let Bucky do it."

Steve waved his phone. "He's mad at me for telling that story about us scamming the fishmonger as kids. In my defense, it was the depression and we were hungry. In his, we did spit swear to tell no one."

She laughed. "You broke a spit swear? What kind of monster are you?"

"The public just has a very unrealistic impression of my childhood. It will do them good to hear I was sometimes hungry, and sometimes a thief."

"I think people have trouble with the scale of time. Or else they tend to break up history into disparate events rather than a timeline." She paused as the waiter came with their entrees. "Like it took me a while to really wrap my head around how much you saw before the war. The Depression and everything."

"We had a running joke during the war about how the history books would record me as having being conjured, fully grown, suit and all, from a contraption built by Howard Stark."

"That isn't that far off, really." She took a bite of scrumptious risotto and hummed in pleasure, well aware he was watching her.

"Well, that was part of the reason before the interview. Introduce them to the person beyond the serum." He was eating steak. "When I first met Stark, he spent quite a bit of time trying to find the best way to insult me. For reasons known only to him, I suppose. Some of it was Loki messing with us. The rest, I imagine, was about Howard. Anyway, one of them was to tell me everything special about me came out of a bottle."

Stark really was a douche sometimes. "Well, I always knew there was more to you. And I'm glad now the rest of the world will, too. Steve Rogers is pretty awesome."

He grinned at her. "I'm glad you think so."

She looked down at her food a moment, drawing swirls through the rice. "It feels strange, because most of our relationship milestones came from awful circumstances. But I am so grateful we found each other. However it happened."

"Bucky and I were discussing the strangeness of fate. Somehow, things work out like they should, in the end."

"So it would seem." She lifted her wine glass. "To fate."

He clinked his against hers. Then he cast a glance at her plate. "Done?"

Holding up a finger she took one last bite, then nodded. "Done."

He reached a hand out for hers, and pulled her to her feet. There was a stone path ringing the roof deck, and he took her on a walk around it. There was a hedge on the other side of the pool, and a bench with perhaps the best view of the city below. "Do you remember when we got coffee after the funeral?"

"I do. I purposely took you to a mom and pop place to impress you."

He laughed. "I didn't know you cared about impressing me back then."

She looked up at him. "I didn't like that you were mad at me. I understood _why_ but it just. . . I was hoping to mend fences."

"You told me you thought your purpose in protecting me was to make sure whatever I faced, I didn't face it alone."

"To quote Bucky, you do occasionally need looking after."

"I didn't think I knew quite how alone I was, until later. But I do need that. Everybody needs that, I think. Someone to take on the world with. I don't think I could honestly ask for anyone better than you. I feel like I don't need to _be_ anyone with you. You let me relax. And feel safe. Which you wouldn't think someone like me would need, but I do. I don't think I ever have been before. Sometimes I think 'I love you' are not adequate words, but it's a start. It's what I've got. Well, and this." He reached into his pocket for the ring. It was platinum and art deco and very. . . him. "Would you be my wife?"

Knowing it was coming didn't make it any less moving. She covered her mouth with a hand, tears stinging the back of her eyes. Despite how many times they had talked about their kids and the future, now that it was here it felt huge and overwhelming and life-changing. And perfectly right. He was obviously expecting an answer so she took a deep breath and managed to get out, "I would love to be your wife."

He grinned and took her hand and slid the ring on. He lifted it and pressed a kiss into her palm. She stroked his jaw, then went up on her toes to kiss him. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her thoroughly. "I totally forgot to get down on one knee," he murmured.

She laughed, resting her forehead on his. "I'll let it slide."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Sharon will return in _Heavy Boots of Lead_ coming August 1st.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [We keep this love in a photograph](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9350108) by [martaangelo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/martaangelo/pseuds/martaangelo)




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